


When Passions Collide

by Miri1984



Category: Rusty Quill Gaming (Podcast)
Genre: Cheesy Romance Novel, Everybody Lives, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-01
Updated: 2020-06-08
Packaged: 2021-02-27 18:47:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 21,339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22970485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miri1984/pseuds/Miri1984
Summary: Post Shoin's institute, Hamid finds Zolf and Oscar unconscious in Oscar's room. Something is going on, but no one is quite clear on what. Only a certain Practical Paladin has the skills necessary to save our intrepid heroes, but will his heart be strong enough to guard against temptation? Only time will tell if love (or sheer bloody mindedness) prevails. Please check out the amazing cover (and chapter) art by @areyouokaypanda here:When Passions Collide
Relationships: Hamid Saleh Haroun al-Tahan/Azu (background), Zolf Smith/Oscar Wilde, Zolf Smith/Oscar Wilde/Grizzop drik Acht Amsterdam
Comments: 111
Kudos: 150





	1. Discoveries

**Author's Note:**

  * For [areyouokaypanda](https://archiveofourown.org/users/areyouokaypanda/gifts).



The wind whipped Oscar’s hair around his face and he turned up the collar of his coat against its chill, coming off the icy blackness of the churning. The hardships of weather were new to him, forced from his home by capricious fate and the whims of his family, left to flail and flounder through the harsh realities of life away from soft comfort of fortune and good name he had enjoyed in London. 

Scandal had destroyed them, scandal had dogged his footsteps across England, across to their old home in Ireland, into poverty and desperation, and then even further, until he and his brother were here, at this lonely dockside, tied together by fate and family and misery.

They waited in the cold and the wet for the gangplank to be lowered, all that was left of the great Wilde estate contained in a lonely chest, their entire world reduced to a few trinkets. 

Oscar could only hope that their sister faired better, in her marriage to a lowly cleric of Hephaestus. Poor but honest and good, Brock was also far away from the tainted name that had hounded and followed them across England for the past few months. No, the vindictiveness of Queensberry and his ilk could not touch her in her new home, protected as she was with a new name and a man who loved and cherished her as much as she deserved.

Oscar and Willy had no such recourse. Queensberry’s hatred was too deep seated and their faces and reputations too well known for them to be safe anywhere other than the Americas. It had taken Oscar months to reach that conclusion, and weeks to convince his brother that this was their last and best hope. 

Willy had not taken it well.

“They could at least have been ready for us,” Willy muttered and Oscar refrained from shooting him an irritated look. Truly his moping had been difficult enough, but the petulant childishness that was creeping into every interaction was beginning to grate far more. 

Oscar distracted himself by looking up at the ship that was to be their home for the three month long crossing to America. The Peregrine was nice enough, he supposed, although Oscar’s knowledge of ships was next to nothing. He knew they floated, or were supposed to, and he knew great romances and ballads had been written about the joys and horrors of the sea, but all he could see from this angle was a perfectly normal ship. It floated, which was the basic requirement for that sort of thing, Wilde supposed, and it looked well cared for, but otherwise unremarkable. 

He sighed, running a hand through his hair, anticipating that the journey would be uncomfortable at best and highly unpleasant at worst. The crossing to Ireland had been less than kind to Willy’s stomach (although Oscar suspected that was as much from the volume of alcohol his brother had put in it beforehand) and the trip to America was far, far longer. He was resigned to a few months of misery, and tried to steer himself towards the notion that at least it would be peaceful. Perhaps he would even be able to get some writing done, if he could find a spot quiet enough. Perhaps on the deck, where he could watch the ocean…

It was at that moment that the sky took the opportunity to part briefly, letting a small shaft of sunlight fall near the prow of the ship, illuminating a figure standing with one foot up on the railing. Oscar could faintly hear him calling out something, to the other crewmembers, perhaps? To Oscar, though, it sounded as if he were commanding the very waves, or the sunlight that bathed him for a brief moment, allowing Oscar a brief, perfect image of a halo of white hair and a braided beard cascading down the dwarf’s bare, tattooed chest, corded with muscle. It was a picture worthy of a great stained glass window in the most opulent temple of Poseidon - strength and beauty blended together, a true avatar of the ocean. He could not help but gasp at the poetry of it.

Oscar braced himself for the disappointment that often followed his flights of romantic fancy when the light behind the dwarf finally dimmed. He was used to his mind leaping ahead in bounds when confronted with a beautiful image, and so was surprised when instead of the picture lapsing back into the drudgery of the mundane, he saw instead the dwarf plainly, and was, rather than disappointed, even more intrigued. Despite the colour of his hair, he wasn’t elderly. This was a person in the prime of his life and in his element, posture loose and confident, the very air around him crackling with authority.

Oscar’s fingers itched for the pen and notebook in his satchel but he could not tear his eyes away from the figure, who seemed utterly oblivious of Oscar’s existence. He couldn’t have gazed on him for more than a few brief seconds, but it felt like an age later that the dwarf finally ducked away again, out of sight. A soft sigh of disappointment escaped Oscar’s lips, before he became faintly aware of Willy nudging him, impatient, indicating that the passenger walkway was ready for them. Oscar swallowing his irritation at being distracted, followed his brother up and onto the ship, wondering (hoping) that the dwarf he had seen would be waiting on board.

* * *

The inn was quiet, for once, the absence of rain drumming on its slate roof jarring for Hamid, enough that he’d woken early despite the bone-deep exhaustion that had dogged them all since their return from Rome. He extricated himself from Azu’s embrace and slid out of bed, pulling on his sleeves and casting prestidigitation with the ease of familiarity. The slight surge of power, the understanding of how much stronger he’d become since the fight in the underwater complex still warmed him a little, the knowledge that he had the ability to keep his friends safe, and he was humming a little under his breath as he made his way down to the kitchens to see about breakfast.

Usually Zolf and Grizzop would be there before him, although not even those two ever managed to be awake before Sasha, but the only person present today was Grizzop, who was sitting on the counter, cradling a bowl of ramen. The goblin was surprisingly adept with chopsticks and ate delicately and efficiently. 

“Zolf not up?”

Grizzop swallowed. “Haven’t seen him. Sasha was in a while ago, I think she’s going off to the mainland later on, or at least she will be once Zolf has the boat ready.”

Hamid busied himself with putting together breakfast for himself and Azu, taking a little bit of extra care with her noodles - she tended to like a little spice in the morning. The fact that Zolf hadn’t appeared by the time he was finished was a little unusual. 

“Maybe he decided to go down to the dock early?” Grizzop said.

“Wouldn’t be the first time, I suppose.” 

He and Azu ate breakfast in companionable silence before she went down to the taproom to see if any of the villagers needed healing. There’d been a nasty fever going around since the storm had finally broken,and she and Grizzop had found a lot of work for their paladin skills. 

At around ten, while Hamid was in the library, going through some more of the paperwork from the underwater facility, Sasha appeared. 

He knew, logically, that she wasn’t actually capable of turning invisible, but he was still astonished at how thoroughly he had not felt her presence before she cleared her throat. He wasn’t the same halfling who’d vomited when faced with a corpse any longer, however, and so managed to cover his startled gasp.

“You seen Wilde or Zolf this morning?” she asked.

“No,” Hamid said, then frowned. It was unusual for Hamid to have the reading room to himself for this long. 

“Only we’re meant to be sailing to the mainland today and I can’t do it on my own yet and Zolf isn’t at the docks and he’s not in the kitchen and…”

Hamid put down his pen and stood up. “Maybe they’re sleeping in?”

Sasha snorted. “Neither of em is much for sleeping,” she said.

“Not these days, no. Let’s go and check?”

Sasha slunk alongside him up to Oscar’s room. 

Hamid wasn’t unobservant, and he knew for a fact that there was… something that Oscar and Zolf hadn’t been saying, at least, not out loud, to them since their return from Rome, so it wasn’t actually surprising to find Zolf asleep on the other side of the sliding door. It was slightly surprising that he was face down halfway towards Oscar’s futon, however, one arm flung out as though he’d tried to catch himself as he fell, resting just next to Oscar’s hand. Oscar too, was fully clothed, and definitely not arrayed the way one would expect him to be for sleep, crumpled in something of a heap, his long limbs askew in a position that could not have been at all comfortable. 

He and Sasha stood for a moment in shocked silence.

“Kinky,” Sasha said, finally.

Hamid didn’t roll his eyes, instead knelt next to Zolf. “Something weird’s going on,” he said

“Well yeah, looks like Wilde is finally getting some sleep.”

“Not that I’m well acquainted with how he normally sleeps but I doubt it’s like this, Sasha.”

“You think Zolf cast something on him? Like what Grizzop was trying to do back in Damascus?”

Hamid stretched out a hand and closed his eyes, reaching out with his senses. He could feel Oscar’s presence, the bubbling well of bardic magic like a swirl of colour just beneath his skin, and Zolf, the cool, bright pool of whatever it was that was giving him power (so very different from the dark harshness of his Poseidon days) and under that a current of something else entirely, something twisting and malevolent. 

“Oh dear,” Hamid murmured.

“What’s going on then?” Sasha asked. 

“There’s definitely magic at work. Run and get Azu for me, Sasha? She’ll know better whether this is something that needs to be healed or if we’re looking at something more complicated than just a sleep spell gone wrong.”

“All right Hamid,” Sasha said, and slipped away. Hamid gently pushed Oscar back into a more comfortable position on his futon. He went, bonelessly, and without even a change in his breathing. He couldn’t really hope to drag Zolf over next to him, but Zolf at least didn’t have his limbs in a position that would seize up and hurt him when he woke, so he figured that could wait until Azu was here to help.

He hoped fervently that she would be able to.

* * *

Captain Smith of the Soaring Peregrine disliked having to take passengers, as a rule. They were more trouble than they were worth, most of the time, throwing up everywhere for the first few days and then just getting in the way of proper sailing work, asking questions and expecting to be asked to dinner in the captain’s cabin and eating up supplies. It was almost impossible to explain to a toff that no, they couldn’t keep a fully stocked wine cellar in the bilges with the slop and no, beef did not magically appear fresh for chef to cook up for them when they were a week out from port. 

But needs must when your cargo sells for half what it should in a backwater Irish port because of famine.

So. Passengers. A couple of brothers, his first mate, Solan, had told him. Down on their luck because of some sort of family disgrace, but with enough gold to secure passage over to America. 

Zolf wasn’t the type of person to care about scandal, but he was interested in gold enough to resupply for the trip, and so they were loaded onto the ship along with what supplies they were able to gather. A stop in Portugal would be profitable enough for the Peregrine to make this entire sorry trip worthwhile and keep her afloat for a few more years yet, the inconveniences of passengers would just be something he’d have to bear.

It was a late enough tide and there was enough for the crew to do for Zolf to avoid meeting his passengers entirely, much to his satisfaction, and once they were out on the water with a good wind he found his favourite spot in the bow, where he could look out over the deck and see his sailors at work, feel the sway of the ship under his feet, remember days past that were better than these.

He saw the man emerge just as the last of the clouds from the storm scuttled away, revealing the spread of stars. It was late, and Zolf should have retired by now, confident in his crew and the rhythms of the sea, but something had caused him to linger, breathing in the sea air. Just as he was thinking of returning to his cabin he saw a figure, stationary close to the stern, tall, hands resting on the railing of the ship, looking back towards the land they had left behind. He wore a hooded cloak but the hood was thrown back, showing flowing locks of dark hair and a pale, angular face that was tipped upwards towards the starlight.

_...something was wrong with the face, something was missing, a feature that Zolf knew better than he knew the back of his own hand, something he couldn’t quite…_

Zolf knew all his crew by sight, but this man was unfamiliar. One of the passengers, then, although he would have expected them to be holed up in their cabin at this time of night.

The man pushed a lock of hair away from his face and Zolf saw him take a deep breath, as though he were drawing in the essence of the sea, as though he felt at home here the same way that Zolf did. He had full, sensual lips and a sharply chiselled jaw and Zolf watched his long fingered, delicate hands - hands that had never had to hold a rope or haul a load or do a single day of any kind of labour - leave his hair to return to the railing and grasp it. His whole body leaned forward into the wind and Zolf was struck with a sudden fear that he would hurl himself into the waves, try to swim his way back to shore, and he stepped forward, reaching out a hand. “Don’t…” he said.

He’d thought he’d spoken softly, but the man turned at the sound of his voice and caught Zolf’s eyes with his own. Those full lips twisted in a wry smile and Zolf’s breath caught in his throat.

“Don’t what?” the man said, and his voice too, was rich and vibrant and full of life.

Zolf swallowed. “Uh, don’t, jump off the ship,” he said, and then had to stop himself from cursing. Gods but the man was beautiful in the starlight, standing tall and elegant, those eyes fixed on his face like jewels. 

_Eyes that Zolf knew._

“What makes you think I’d do something that foolish?” the man asked, and there was an edge of sadness to his tone that made Zolf’s heart ache.

“You were… leaning a ways over the railing,” Zolf said. “If we get hit broadside by a big wave you could overbalance. Just… folks ain’t sometimes aware of how… unpredictable it can be on deck. Even when it feels calm.”

The man raised an eyebrow, but stepped back from the railing. 

“Oh,” he said. “It is… very calm now though. Isn’t it?”

Zolf shrugged. “Sometimes a storm can come up out of the blue.” The man gave a skeptical look up at the perfectly clear sky, then back at Zolf, and those lips curved even more, lush and inviting. Zolf felt his heart thump once, hard, against his ribcage. “Just. Don’t want to lose a passenger before we’re even a day out of dock.” Zolf swallowed again, aware of how rough and course his voice sounded next to the lilting tones of the man opposite. “My responsibility to look after you, after all.”

“You’d be Captain Smith then, I take it?” the man said.

“Aye,” Zolf said. “At your service.”

“Oscar Wilde,” the man said, and held out a hand. Zolf took it, and long, soft fingers curled around Zolf’s far broader, work hardened palm. His fingers were cold and Zolf found himself fighting against the urge to cover Wilde’s hand with his other one to help warm it up.

Starlight and foolishness, he thought to himself _even as his mind screamed at him over the sound of the ocean you know him you know him you know him you KNOW HIM._

_WAKE UP._


	2. Inside Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hamid does some diagnostics. Grizzop eats a Pretzel. Zolf and Oscar have a conversation about magic.

“It’s not a poison, or any kind of medical condition that I can tell,” Azu said. They’d arranged Zolf next to Oscar on the futon, both of them looking for all the world as if they were simply peacefully asleep. But nothing they’d done had been able to rouse them. “A curse, though, might be the case. Hamid did you say you could detect some kind of magic?”

“There was something there, other than Oscar and Zolf’s, yes,” he had his arms crossed over his chest. 

“Their eyes are moving,” Sasha pointed out. “Like, a lot.”

Hamid glanced at Sasha, surprised, then back at Zolf and Wilde. She was right. Behind the two’s closed lids, he could see their eyes dart back and forth. 

“Like they’re dreaming,” he said. 

“Are there spells that can do that?” Azu asked. “Ones that can make you dream?”

Hamid looked at Sasha again, who pursed her lips. “There’s ways to make you think you’re somewhere you’re not,” she said. 

“What’s that?” Azu, who was still sitting on the floor next to Zolf, pointed to the corner of the room. Hamid turned to see something glinting, as though it had been thrown into the corner carelessly. It looked familiar, and as Sasha moved towards it, reaching out a hand to it, Hamid suddenly squealed.

“Don’t!” he said. Sasha stopped and looked back at him, a familiar, sulky expression on her face. “We don’t know what it is!” He was still detecting magic, and sure enough, whatever was in the corner was the source of the twisting, dark power he’d felt surging through both Oscar and Zolf. 

“It’s just a crystal,” Sasha said. “Like that one in Prague, you know, the one that…”

“Was a power source for the mini Mr Ceiling you stole?”

“Hey, I picked it up cos it might have been useful and it never did any harm until your ex brought her little…”

“I know, I _know_ Sasha but… that’s… look it’s not important any more. There’s magic coming from it, and touching it might be what caused Zolf and Wilde to…” Hamid indicated the whole situation.

“Oh right. It’s gonna make me fall asleep?”

“It might!”

“Well shouldn’t we just smash it then?” Sasha lifted a foot, as though she was going to stomp down on the crystal. 

“No!” both Azu and Hamid shouted. “No we don’t know what kind of magic it is, we don’t know if smashing it will have side effects.”

“Fine!” Sasha put her foot back where it was and turned, crossing her arms over her chest. “I’m just trying to help here.”

“We know, Sasha,” Azu said, gently, then turned to Hamid. “Maybe Cel will know something about this?”

“We can ask them, yes. But maybe...:” Hamid tapped a finger on the side of his cheek, thinking. “I could try to read their thoughts - see if I can find out what it is they’re dreaming about? Maybe that will help?”

Azu shrugged. “Worth a try.”

Hamid closed his eyes again and held out his hands, murmuring the spell and concentrating on Zolf and Oscar. It felt a little strange, to be invading their privacy like this, but it wasn’t as though Hamid had any other options, really. They needed to understand what was going on and for that Hamid needed to use any source of information he could.

* * *

“A pleasure to meet you, Captain,” Oscar said. The captain was, somewhat to Oscar’s disappointment, now wearing a shirt, although it was open at the neck and from Oscar’s considerable height he could see the dark ink of one of the tattoos that covered his chest. His hand was still in Oscar’s, and Oscar could feel the roughness of callouses under his fingers, the tough, sinewy strength in his grip.

Smith disengaged his hand and shoved both in his pockets, rocking back and forth on his metal feet.

Oscar blinked, glancing downwards at Smith’s perfectly normal boots and trousers, then back up into the dwarf’s eyes. 

“Something wrong, Mr Wilde?” 

Oscar shook his head, arranging his most charming smile. “No,” he said. “You just… seem very familiar.”

Smith grunted, one eyebrow raising in surprise. “Known many dwarf sailors, have you?”

“Just the one, so far.”

Smith seemed to be waiting for Oscar to say something more than that, but Oscar stopped himself from continuing the logical train of thought. Dwarves were famous for a few things, none of which involved the sea. He wasn’t going to risk offending Smith by falling into the trap of stereotyping.

Not when the dwarf was so… charmingly intriguing.

“You and your brother settling in all right?”

Oscar sighed, glancing back towards the cabins. “As well as can be expected. I suppose we’ll have enough time for him to grow more accustomed to the notion of America as our final destination.”

“It’s a rough place,” Smith said. “You’ll need to think about how you’re going to manage.”

“Oh, I have resources,” Oscar said, returning his gaze to Smith and giving him his best smile. Smith drew in a sharp breath and Oscar saw colour rise in his cheeks. He tried not to feel a smug surge of satisfaction, but it was nice to know that on the other side of scandal and tragedy, he still had the ability to fluster someone as handsome as Smith.

Because he  _ was  _ handsome. Oscar’s first sighting of him - dramatic and over the top as it had been - had probably coloured his first impression somewhat, but this close to him Oscar was able to make out the long lashes over the deep emerald of his eyes, the full lips, the strong curve of his nose...

“What sort of resources might those be?” Smith asked, and his voice was rougher than it had been.

Oscar lifted a hand and hummed a small tune, creating a shower of slow moving, colourful sparks and scattering them over the dwarf.

Smith cursed, but didn’t try to bat them away - it was obvious he knew they weren’t real, meaning the dwarf had come across this kind of magic before.

“Magic, huh. Your brother too?”

“Alas, magic is not one of Willy’s few talents, no.”

Smith snorted. “Well. It can come in useful on long journeys like this one. We don’t have the budget for a full time wizard crew member but they’re always handy. I’ll give you a discount on your passage if you can help out here and there, should we need it.”

Oscar sketched a bow. “I should be most happy to assist you and your crew, Captain,” he said, glancing up from the bow to see Smith looking at him curiously, head slightly tilted to one side.

The expression on his face was so familiar…

The dwarf snapped his fingers and flame appeared at their tips for a moment, before it winked out. _That_ would be why he was used to magic. Even more intriguing. “Just keep the pyrotechnics to a minimum, Mr Wilde,” he said. “There ain’t much worse than a ship at sea on fire.”

Oscar straightened. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

* * *

Once Azu was certain there was no immediate danger to Oscar or Zolf’s health, they gathered everyone in the taproom of the inn to discuss strategies.

“So what, you read their minds and they seemed to be dreaming some sort of… what… adventure story?” Grizzop asked. The goblin was sitting on the bar with a sake in one hand and a pretzel in the other. Zolf had taken to the kitchen after Shoin’s institute and baked for a solid day. Hamid had been baffled by it, but Wilde had simply waved a hand. “He stress bakes,” he’d said, as though that made any sense whatsoever. Still they’d all been enjoying the fruits of said labor since, and Grizzop in particular was very fond of the pretzels.

“It was quite difficult to make out exactly what was going on, to be honest,” Hamid said. “It’s not a very precise spell, and honestly they should have been able to detect me given how deeply I looked, but neither of them registered my presence at all.”

“What about the crystal?” Azu asked. 

“That’s definitely where the magic’s coming from,” Cel said. “I don’t know exactly how, that’s more your area of expertise, Hamid little buddy.”

“I think it’s some kind of illusion magic,” he said. “It’s a shame Wilde is asleep - I think he might know more about it than anyone else could, but I still… have an idea that might work. To help them.”

“So what is it?” Grizzop asked.

“We can’t risk destroying the crystal,” Hamid said. “We don’t know what that will do to their minds. And trying to reach them with normal telepathy spells didn’t work, they’re very convinced that where they are is real, and from what I could gather from the… story they’re in… well. They don’t remember each other, so they probably wouldn’t remember me either. I can’t get through to them from the outside.”

“This feels a lot like what Mr Ceiling did to us,” Sasha said, and she did not sound happy. “Back in Paris.”

Hamid sighed and ran his hand through his hair. “Yes. They’ve been trapped in a… well it’s not another plane exactly, it’s like… a plane of thought. Their own imaginations and whatever world the person who cast the spell on them could create out of their memories…”

“So how did you get out?” Grizzop asked. “In Paris?” 

Hamid looked down, remembering the all consuming despair he’d felt at La Triumph, that overwhelming helplessness. “Zolf and Sasha realised that it wasn’t real. And we went back to the place where the spell began and destroyed the thing that was casting it.”

“So we  _ should _ just smash the crystal!” Sasha said.

“No! In Paris we  _ knew  _ it wasn’t real, so breaking the spell didn’t hurt us. If we disrupt whatever world they’re in from the outside we run the risk of distorting their notion of reality so much that it would send them both mad.”

There was a long silence. Hamid looked around the room at each of them, wondering if the plan he'd formulated was even feasible. 

“You just said disrupting the spell from the _outside_ might send them mad…” Cel said. “So what you’re suggesting is…”

Oh well. It wasn't as though they had any other options. “We disrupt it from the inside,” he said. “We send someone in there after them.”


	3. For the Pack

Being on a ship was dull, dull, dull. Oscar had spent most of his life amongst cultured people, moving in circles where conversation revolved around literature and art and music, where it was routine to visit the theatre or the opera every week, where he was wined and dined by fans and critics alike, all keen for a moment or of his time. On ship he was lucky to get three words out of an illiterate cabin boy when it was time to eat. No one else on the ship was interested in talking, or interested in Oscar, at all.

It was mind numbing. And, he couldn’t deny it, somewhat bruising to his ego.

He wrote a little, toyed with a new idea for a play, but his heart wasn’t in it. Everything he knew, all the quirks of society and class that had made his writing a success in England would be alien and useless in America.

He knew poets who found the sea awe inspiring and magnificent, who wrote about the vast expanse of water and sky as though it was something other than just that - a vast expanse of water and sky, most of the time moving in ways that did nothing for Oscar’s imagination save make him queasy. The ship bobbed up and down, and the sea stretched out forever as far as he could see. A few half hearted scribbles were all he could manage, and so he ended up sitting up on deck in a corner with his chin resting on his hand, observing the crew.

That was somewhat interesting, after a time, hypnotic even, watching the rhythms of their work, although his eyes, again and again, were drawn to the figure of Captain Smith as he moved quietly and carefully among them, giving orders, checking ropes, gazing out over the waves. Oscar felt a small thrill of victory every time the Captain gave one of his reluctant smiles, and he noted which of the crew were most likely to be able to draw one out of him. There was something warming about those smiles, something precious and unusual, something that fulfilled a need in him that he couldn’t quite understand.

A memory. Just out of his grasp. A feeling.

He noticed that the dwarf’s gait was somewhat odd, and Oscar remembered that moment on deck when he’d been certain he had metal legs. As he watched him move amongst the crew, an insight hovered just out of reach, so tantalisingly close to the forefront of his mind. He felt drawn to the Captain. What was it he’d said? “You’re my responsibility.” Oscar remembered feeling a surge of warmth at those words, but they were wrong.

Something was telling him that Oscar wasn’t Captain Smith’s responsibility at all. No, rather it was precisely the opposite.

Thus lost in his musings, Oscar as unprepared when a sudden gust of wind caught his notebook and tore it out of his hands. It skidded across the deck, heading for a drainage gap in the railings. Without thinking, he dove after it. The lunge was clumsy and he ended up slamming, hard, into a bollard, pain lancing through his chest, but he managed to catch the notebook in one outstretched hand, saving it from eternal rest amongst the waves. He laughed in relief, then swore as a figure barreled into him.

The pain in his ribs increased a thousandfold and he heard a string of dwarvish swear words as Captain Smith tripped over him, the two of them tangling together onto the deck away from the bollard.

“Poseidon’s fat ass!” the last was said almost directly into Oscar’s ear, hot breath and the tickle of the captain’s beard against his skin making Oscar shiver.

“Ow,” Oscar said. They struggled against each other for a moment, Oscar accidentally pressing against the firm expanse of Smith’s chest, rough hair and muscle under his palm almost enough to distract him from the pain in his ribs.

“What in the depths were you doing, launching yourself across the deck like that?” Smith disentangled himself and sat back on the deck, breath heaving.

Oscar gave him a sheepish smile and held up his notebook. “I was about to lose a month's worth of poetry,” he said, then winced. 

Smith got to his feet and offered Oscar a hand, which Oscar took, and the dwarf heaved him to his feet. The process felt like it tore something in his stomach and Oscar let out a grunt of pain. Smith steadied him, his free hand on Oscar’s elbow.

“Gods, are you all right?”

He wasn’t. But there was no way in the world he was about to admit that to the sailor on his knees near him. Oscar still had some dignity, after all, no matter that his recent foolish actions might point to the contrary.

“I’m fine,” he said, and pulled his hand free. “Honestly, Captain, do not trouble yourself.”

Smith stood and watched, frowning, as Oscar retreated, straight backed towards his cabin. Once he was inside, he leaned his head on the door, breathing out with the pain. Right. This was fixable. He just needed to focus his concentration, gather some magic and...

There was a cold press of metal against the back of his head, and Oscar went completely still.

“About time you found your way back, fancy lad,” a low, rough voice breathed somewhere near his ear. “We was beginning to think you’d be up on deck the entire trip, me and Willie here.” 

Oscar turned, slowly, to see who appeared to be a regular sailor, one of Smith’s crew, a rugged, middle aged man, smiling slightly. Behind him, Willie sat, head in his hands, shoulders shaking. 

“What in the realms is going on here?” Oscar said, trying for a light hearted tone.

“Collecting on a job,” the sailor said. “We’re here for Johnny Douglas, Misters Wilde.”

“So what are you going to do?” Oscar asked, voice quavering slightly. Damn. After all their precautions, everything they did to evade Queensbury’s minions, they’d been tracked and captured, and now. Well.

“Surely that’s obvious,” the sailor said.

“So you’re going to kill us? And then what? Walk out on deck and pretend we fatally shot each other? How do you intend to murder us and get away with it?”

The sailor heaved a sigh.

“Jonny said you were the  _ smart _ one of the pair,” the sailor sneered, and Oscar glanced at his brother, curled in on himself in the corner. “But you’re just as dumb as he is.”

Oscar wished he didn’t feel quite so offended by that. Perhaps the pain in his ribs was making him overly sensitive.

“Please  _ educate  _ me then, my good man.”

“Not gonna kill you here,” the sailor said, and fished in his pocket for something. “Not when Jonny wants to do the deed himself.” The sailor brought out a scroll, and Oscar knew enough about magic to realise what was about to happen. He lunged forward, reaching for the scroll, even as the sailor fired his crossbow and the door behind him burst open. Searing pain lanced his left shoulder and his ribs screamed at him as he barreled into the sailor, who was flailing with the scroll. From behind him, Oscar could hear the exclamations of Captain Smith, in front of him, Willie was shouting and the sailor was still desperately trying to use the scroll.

With his last gasp of consciousness, Oscar managed to knock the scroll out of the sailor’s hand, collapsing against him.

Then everything went dark.

* * *

“Why me?” Grizzop stood, arms crossed over his chest, ears sticking straight out from his head, lips pursed and positively vibrating with anger. Hamid sighed. He figured the goblin would be hesitant about this, but they really didn’t have any other options.

“You’re the most logical choice,” Hamid said, as patiently as he could. 

“Azu can go. She’d love it in there.”

“Almost certainly,” Azu said, and there was a smile in her voice. “Which is one of the reasons I wouldn’t be suitable.” She glanced down at Hamid, who gave her a fond smile. “There’s a chance I’d be tempted to stay.” 

“Of all of us, you’re the least likely to get caught up in the story, buddy,” Cel said. “I have a hard enough time distinguishing reality from what goes on in my head normally, Azu loves a good adventure and Sasha…”

Sasha, who was idly twirling a dagger, made a negative sound. “I’m not going in Zolf’s head,” she said. “Wouldn’t be right.”

“But it’s all right for  _ me  _ to…”

“Someone  _ has  _ to, Grizzop,” Hamid said. “And in the end… well. We think they’d most like it to be you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You’re very good at seeing into the heart of things, Grizzop,” Azu said. “You won’t get distracted by the story. Hamid said it’ll be hard to resist the spell, even knowing that it’s false, and…”

“Wilde likes you,” Hamid said. “And he cares about you. There’s more of a chance he’ll recognise you than any of us.”

Hamid wasn’t going to remind Grizzop of the relief on Wilde’s face, when they’d finally passed their quarantine, when they’d first gotten back from Rome, the heartfelt thanks, the warm clasp of the goblin’s hand in his - so utterly different from every interaction the two had had in the presence of the LOLOMG before Damascus. He wasn’t going to mention the look of quiet happiness in Zolf’s eyes, either, watching them.

“Of course he… cares about me he cares about all of us we’re his responsibility. His tools. His…”

Azu shook her head. “It’s more than that, Grizzop.”

Grizzop looked grumpy at that, kicking at the ground with one foot. “Whose to say  _ Zolf _ won’t just tell me to fuck off then?” Grizzop said.

“I mean it’s Zolf,” Cel said. “He probably  _ will…” _

Hamid sighed. “That’s not really helping, Cel.” 

“We’re going into a shared hallucination,” Grizzop said. “Into what you all seem to think is an adventure novel?”

“I think it’s based on a Campbell, actually,” Azu said, sounding excited. Hamid pinched the bridge of his nose. 

Grizzop made a disgusted sound. “Shouldn’t we all go? I mean, just to be safe.”

“I have to cast the spell, and it’ll be hard enough to maintain it for one person. This is the best chance it’ll succeed.”

Grizzop looked at them all, still straight backed, still tense as a bowstring, then his ears sagged and he sighed. “I mean, yeah. I’ll go. They’re pack.” He looked up and caught Hamid’s eyes with his, face set and determined. “I’ll protect the pack. But if I end up stuck in a stupid romance novel for the rest of my life I’m going to make you all pay for it.”

Hamid let out a relieved breath. “Thank you, Grizzop. I know this isn’t going to be…”

Grizzop reached down to pick up his bow and moved towards the door. 

“I said I’d go, Hamid, let’s just get on with it.”

Hamid sighed again, and followed him up towards Wilde’s room.


	4. Into the Breach

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grizzop has misgivings. Azu is excited. Hamid is exasperated. Zolf has insight. Willie has a gun.

The spell to send Grizzop was relatively simple, for all what they were trying to accomplish was complex. Grizzop’s consciousness would be transferred into the dream state that both Wilde and Zolf shared. They set up a cot for him, next to the futon that currently held the pair of sleepers, and he lay down on it.

He was far from relaxed, though, and his red eyes fixed Hamid with a hard glare as Hamid set out the components he’d need for the spell.

“You’re going to be fine, Grizzop,” Hamid said. 

“Of course I am. It’s whether or not these two idiots will be that’s the real question.”

“Actually the real question should be who did this to them,” Cel said. They were standing over the crystal again and Hamid gave them a warning glance. 

“We can find that out once we’ve got them back, Cel.”

“I’m sure I’ve seen something like this before,” Cel said. “Maybe in Singapore? Or was it in South America somewhere?”

Grizzop glanced their way and then back at Hamid. “Should they be… looking at it like that?”

Azu made a reassuring noise. “They just want to know how it works, Grizzop.”

“Yeah, well, if you could possibly make sure they don’t end up trapping me in Wilde’s head, in the process that would be great.” 

“All right, all right, grey buddy,” Cel said. “I’m not going to do anything to risk you or the team, I just need…” they started backing out of the room, still muttering to themself in a variety of different languages. Hamid took a deep breath. 

“Azu will monitor all your vital signs. If things get too difficult I’ll pull you out.”

Grizzop’s expression reminded Hamid a little bit too acutely of a certain conversation in the family estate in Cairo. A certain level of superiority, of moral certainty that Hamid had once wistfully thought he might want to share. Now, however, it just made him impatient. “I’m going to sleep, Hamid, not out on a hunt.”

Hamid knew more about magic than Grizzop did. And he knew precisely what he was doing here. 

Probably.

“We don’t know exactly what effects their mindscape will have on your body, Grizzop,” he said. 

“Wot.”

“It’s possible you could be harmed in there.”

“I’m going into a _fantasy_ how can it possibly _hurt me?”_

Hamid glanced at Azu, who made a face. “It’s part of the story, Grizzop,” she said, patiently. “If it’s a dream based on a romance novel, the protagonists often have to… save each other. From mortal peril.”

“Oh. Really.”

“So there’s a chance there might be… enemies in this little scenario. Things to push… our protagonists closer together.”

“Are you telling me that Zolf and Wilde are…”

“It was fairly obvious from their interactions in the small amount I saw, yes, Grizzop,” Hamid said, trying, and failing to keep the exasperation out of his voice.

“Perfect. So I’m probably going to walk in on them smooching. Or worse.”

Hamid glanced at Azu again. “Probably not quite yet,” she said. “Campbell does like to… errr… build up to that sort of thing. You’re more likely to get some meaningful glances and almost hand touching. Maybe some awkward conversations? Accidental nudity?” Azu’s eyes went dreamy and her hands moved enthusiastically as she spoke. “In _The Starlight of the Soul_ Manifred and Gregory spent three chapters sitting in a hot spring… six feet apart! The romantic tension was _amazing_...”

 _Trite, ill conceived and boring,_ Hamid thought to himself, but didn’t say out loud. Azu liked the books as much as Zolf did, and he’d learned the value, in the past few months, of valuing the things his friends valued, if not for their merit, at least for their ability to make his friends happy.

Everyone needed their own interests, after all.

“Just… relax into it Grizzop. You might need to play a part a little at first. But as soon as you get the chance to explain to Zolf and Oscar what’s going on the spell should dissipate.”

“So I just go in there, tell them they’re in a dream, and we all wake up?”

“Get them alone first if you can,” Hamid said. “I suspect the other characters in the scenario have been created with the purpose of keeping them both under for as long as possible. If you let the dream know what you’re doing, someone might try to stop you.”

“So this is a sentient dream and it’s going to try to kill me.”

“Possibly,” Hamid dragged one hand down his face. “Whoever did this to them certainly didn’t do it out of the goodness of their heart. We need to get them out of there and we need to do it now so if you would…”

“Yes yes, let’s get on with it.”

Hamid repressed a sigh as Grizzop laid back on the cot. He was positively vibrating with pent up energy and Hamid had time to be grateful he didn’t have to fall asleep naturally for this spell to work.

“Ready?”

“Yes!”

“Okay. Just relax. I’m casting the spell now…”

* * *

Zolf didn’t know precisely what he expected to find, in the guest room that held the Wilde brothers. It certainly wasn’t his bo’sun attempting to cast from a magic scroll while one brother cowered in the corner and the other, blood flowing freely from a wound in his shoulder, hurled himself to stop him.

He shouted a warning at Yeardsley and lunged forward even as Oscar Wilde - he realised that was the brother who was bleeding - collapsed. Zolf swung one fist hard at Yeardsley’s head, feeling the tingle of magic coursing through his skin as he made a connection and the bo’sun fell, morphing as he lost consciousness into someone who was definitely NOT Yeardsley.

Illusion magic. Zolf cursed, then looked up at the remaining Wilde.

“What the Gods is going on in here?” he shouted. Wilde shook his head, holding out his hands.

“It’s not my fault! It’s never been my fault. He always hated Oscar more than me I thought that if I…”

Zolf could see familial resemblance in the other Wilde. He had the same full lips and heavy lidded eyes, but his jaw lacked his brother’s strength and his cheeks were florid and red, his eyes bloodshot and his figure slumped and defeated where Wilde stood straight and tall.

“Was this _your_ doing??”

“I didn’t… it wasn’t…”

He was useless, was what he was, and Zolf didn’t have time to deal with whatever excuses started spilling from the man’s mouth. There were two unconscious men on the floor, one of whom, Zolf was beginning to realise, had probably killed or disposed of a man Zolf had worked with for years, and the other one… 

The other one was proving to be a godsdamned barrel of trouble that he didn’t need right now. 

After making sure that Not!Yeardsley was firmly unconscious, Zolf gripped the scroll in one hand and poked his head out the door, giving a sharp whistle, piercing enough to be heard through the entire ship when it was calm. There was the sound of running feet and Dorn, the cabin boy, appeared. 

“Fetch rope and the medkit,” he said. “And hurry back.”

Dorn, an orc kid of about seven, already taller and broader than most fully grown humans, nodded and scampered off, leaving Zolf and Wlliam - that was the other Wilde’s name - alone in the room with two unconscious bodies.

“Is he dead?” William’s voice quavered somewhat on the question.

“Which one?” Zolf said roughly, kneeling next to Oscar. Blood still flowed freely from the man’s shoulder but he was breathing, at least.

“Is _my brother_ dead?”

“Not yet,” Zolf replied, and he turned the younger Wilde over onto his back. His head flopped to the side and Zolf could see the full extent of the wound - a small crossbow bolt imbedded in the flesh just below his collarbone.

“Help me get him up onto the cot,” he said. William, however, didn’t move from where he sat in the corner, arms crossed over his chest, rocking slightly and muttering to himself. Zolf couldn’t make out many of the words, but “should have worked, it should have worked” were definitely in there somewhere and Zolf felt a heavy suspicion settle in his chest.

Fortunately he was saved from spewing it back at the elder Wilde by Dorn returning. “Help me with this one,” Zolf snapped, “then tie that one up and throw him in the brig, there’s a good lad.” Dorn nodded and grabbed Oscar’s legs, helping Zolf move him to the cot. Oscar let out a small grunt of pain but didn’t open his eyes and Zolf ignored Dorn as he bustled about with the former Yeardsley. The boy was more reliable than most ten year veterans and he was grateful to have his help.

The boy hefted the unconscious Yeardsley to his shoulder and carried him out while Zolf stripped Oscar of his coat and shirt with a little difficulty - the man was tall and more solidly muscled than he’d looked under those fancy clothes, and began to examine the wound. It looked far nastier than it was, he realised quickly. A little lower and he could have been in trouble, a little higher and it probably would have simply nicked the bone and failed to imbed. Either way, however, getting it out was going to be painful.

Gathering his power around himself, Zolf grasped the bolt and pulled it free, the sickening squelch of it ripping back through flesh far too familiar a sound, then murmured the spell to knit the wound closed. Oscar let out a low cry as the bolt slipped free, his eyes flying open and his whole body jerking. Zolf had been expecting this, however, and held him down with one hand while he flung the arrow to the side and continued to cast, satisfied with the feeling of power coursing through him.

_It was flowing too easily, too quickly, and the wound didn’t resist him in any way. Something wasn’t right. The universe should not respond this quickly, this eagerly to his attempts to bend it… if he could just…_

Oscar’s hand came up to clasp Zolf’s arm, his skin hot and feverish, his grip weak. “What’s happening?” he whispered.

Zolf smoothed his hand over the freshly closed wound, judiciously ignoring the way Oscar’s full lips parted as he did so, the way his too pink tongue darted out to wet his lips.

“You were attacked,” Zolf said. 

“And you ruined it,” Willie said from behind them. “The way you ruin _everything_ Oscar. The way you _ruined us.”_

Zolf turned to see the erstwhile elder Wilde standing now, holding out something that Zolf had only ever encountered once before in his wide travels.

A pistol - held in shaking hands, but in such a way that Zolf knew he was capable of using it.

“Step away from him,” William Wilde said, and his voice was firmer now, with the resolve of despair.

“What, so you can kill him?” Zolf stood, and as he did so Oscar’s hand, the one that had gripped his arm, slid down until it was resting in Zolf’s palm. Without thinking, Zolf squeezed his fingers around it, keeping it in his, a reassurance. A promise.

_A familiarity._

“No. So I can send him back to Queensbury, and I can live my life in peace.”

“You’re a fool, Willie,” Oscar said, voice rough and hoarse from behind him. “You’re a fool if you think Johnny will ever let _any_ of us live in peace.”

“And whose fault is that?” Willie shouted, and the gun wavered.

Oscar let out a heavy sigh. “It’s probably mine, isn’t it?” he said, and Zolf could tell he was trying for an airy, light tone. “I mean in the end it’s always my fault, isn’t it Zolf? I left you in Paris after all. I failed you in Damascus…”

Zolf frowned, turned to look at Oscar, who was looking up at him, a frown crossing his brow as well.

“What?” Zolf breathed. “What did you just say?’

Oscar blinked. “I…”

“I’ll kill you _and_ him,” Willie said, stepping forward and jabbing Zolf in the chest with the barrel of the pistol. Zolf swallowed.

“Just… all of us need to stay calm here,” he said, holding his free hand out. “We can sort this out. Just so long as nobody does anything stu..”

There was a bang at the door as it swung open and Zolf swore, even as Willie spun and fired wildly.

“Oh. _Brilliant,”_ Zolf heard before he saw the short figure in the doorway raise its hand to a ridiculously long, pointed ear, and bring it back down covered in rich, green blood.


	5. Tingly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grizzop Negotiates. Wilde and Zolf smolder. Willie... well.

Grizzop appeared on a ship. He wasn’t desperately familiar with them, as a rule, the trip to Prague from Holland had been overland, traipsing through forests with Ava by his side, hunting as they went, helping the sick and needy in the towns they visited. He missed that - the feeling of being on the road, with a clear trail to follow. He missed Ava as well, come to think of it. And Vesseek and….

It didn’t do to dwell on the past. He had a job to do.

In any case, since Prague all of his travel had been by magical means with varying degrees of disaster attached, so it took a couple of minutes to work out he was in the hold of a ship, his dark vision making it easy to see the hatch he’d have to climb up to get to the main areas. He had his armor, and his bow and his arrows, which was a relief. Hamid had mentioned that he’d need to have a strong sense of himself, to transfer into a realm of pure thought.

Turned out that hadn’t been a problem at all.

He scanned the hold quickly, to make sure he was alone, then climbed up and gingerly popped the hatch, looking out across a deck bathed in the light of the setting sun. He could see the feet of a few sailors, in the middle distance and risked poking his head up further.

No one was looking in the direction of the hatch, so Grizzop popped out and closed it swiftly, slipping behind a large barrel to take his bearings. 

The last interaction Hamid had seen using read minds had taken place on deck, but right now nothing was happening at all. In fact, looking more closely at the sailors who were ostensibly working, Grizzop noticed they seemed to be simply standing - staring into the middle distance, their hands loose at their sides, like zombies. Grizzop repressed a shudder and started to look away, when he heard movement behind him. Adjusting his hiding spot, he saw a young orc emerge from a doorway that looked like it lead into cabins and move swiftly across the deck. He disappeared into what looked like the galley, then came out a few seconds later clutching a kit and a long length of rope, and bolted back towards the first entrance. Grizzop, glancing at the other sailors, who still had not moved from their positions, followed a little ways behind him. 

The orc entered one of the cabins, then came out a few moments later dragging a bound figure. A glance at the figure told Grizzop it wasn’t Zolf or Wilde, and as such didn’t concern him. What concerned him was behind that door - definitely where the central drama of this farce of a dream world was happening. And considering the central drama needed to involve Zolf and Wilde, that was most likely where they would be.

He let the orc go past him then strode up to the door and flung it open. Best to get this over with.

A ringing bang and a sharp pain in his ear was  _ not  _ something he expected, nor was the wild eyed man holding what looked like a metal tube aimed at his face.

He reached up to feel what felt like a very physical wound, and groaned. “Oh  _ brilliant.”  _ Hamid had said physical injury here was dangerous, and Artemis knew he was going to make someone  _ pay  _ if they’d scarred his ear. He rubbed his fingers together, sniffed the blood on them by habit.

It didn’t smell right.

Mmmm.

There wasn’t time for contemplation, though, as he looked up to see Zolf, standing between the unknown man and what looked like an unconscious and half naked Wilde. 

Well. That wasn’t entirely unexpected, he supposed. 

He pointed at the one who had hurt him, with whatever device he still held pointed at him. “Who are  _ you?”  _ he asked.

The man didn’t have time to answer, as Zolf clocked him with a solid dwarven fist from behind and he dropped whatever had hurt Grizzop and clamped his hand to his head, howling in pain. Zolf shoved him in the back with one leg, slamming him against the wall near the door, then spun him around to hit him again, before shoving him back into the only chair in the room. 

Grizzop had seen Zolf in action before, naturally, but usually when he’d been distracted with his own fighting. Seeing the dwarf unrestrained, violent, emotional - strength evident in the way his muscles heaved under the thin material of his shirt, in his posture, in every line of his body actually - well. That was definitely. Something.

“Stay  _ down,”  _ Zolf hissed at the man, holding up one hand which swirled with divine magic.

Or what  _ looked  _ like divine magic.

Grizzop narrowed his eyes, but before he had a chance to voice his thought Zolf fixed him with a baleful green glare. 

“Who the fuck are  _ you?”  _ Zolf said, and Grizzop felt a surprising stab of hurt at that. Sure he and Zolf hadn’t known each other very long, but Grizzop didn’t exactly think he was unmemorable. 

Oh. Right. Dream World. And he wasn’t supposed to tell them about it until they were alone.

Artemis help them all.

“Grizzop drik acht Amsterdam,” he said. “Paladin of Artemis. Here to help.”

Zolf blinked at that. “You were  _ not  _ on the passenger manifest.”

Grizzop grinned and shrugged. “No. But I go where duty takes me and right now that’s here. I need to talk to you. You and  _ him.”  _ He nodded towards Wilde, whose eyes were fluttering open.

“Captain?”

For the first time Grizzop turned his attention to Wilde, noticing how his shirt had been ripped off, artistically exposing a large swathe of pale skin taught over muscle and flesh, his head thrown back to show the long column of his neck, his hair rumpled but still somehow perfect, jewels of eyes blinking up at Zolf and his plump lower lip caught between his teeth.

Grizzop blinked and shook his head, trying to clear the sudden fog creeping over his mind.

The stupid dream was trying to catch  _ him  _ as well. That was enough to make him bristle with anger.

“Your brother just tried to kill you,” Zolf said, and Grizzop glanced over at the man in the chair, who had blood running from the side of his mouth and an expression of clear rage in his eyes.

“Good to know the family feels the same about you as everyone else,” Grizzop muttered, glancing back, but Zolf and Wilde were ignoring him completely. Staring into each other’s eyes. Despite the fact that they were in a closed cabin on a relatively calm sea, Grizzop could have sworn he saw wind ruffle the hair at Zolf’s temple.

“You healed me?” Wilde was saying, and Zolf nodded, reaching out to brush a hand over Wilde’s shoulder, where Grizzop could see fresh blood but no wound. 

“You’re safe now,” the dwarf murmured, voice rich and heavy, laden with months of loneliness on the ocean, with the burden of command, with longing and… and…

...and Grizzop blew air out of his cheeks in a noise that wasn’t  _ meant  _ to be rude, but could  _ possibly  _ be interpreted as being somewhat close to the sound of someone  _ fed up with this  _ breaking wind. 

They were wasting time.

“Oi. Lovebirds,” Zolf’s head snapped round and Wilde tilted his head, for the first time noticing him standing in the middle of the room. “You want me to kill this one? I’ve got business with you and he can’t be here for it.”

Zolf blinked. Wilde blinked. Willie, utterly unexpectedly, lurched forward and tried to get his hands around Grizzop’s throat.

Grizzop was small, but Willie was an idiot, and probably an imaginary one. Grizzop didn’t hesitate, he elbowed Willie out of the way and snatched his dagger from his belt, angling upwards to plunge it directly into Willie’s throat wrenching it back and forth in a precise, strong motion designed to sever the artery and extinguish life as quickly as possible.

He was dead before he hit the deck of the boat, and Grizzop gave a satisfied hmph before wiping his dagger on the dead man’s coat and slipping it back into his sheath.

He turned to see Wilde and Zolf staring at him, mouths agape.

“He wasn’t  _ real,”  _ Grizzop explained. 

“You just…” Zolf said.

“My  _ brother…”  _ Oscar’s voice was cracking.

Zolf’s hands came up, cupping in an unmistakable caster’s stance. “You have ten seconds to explain yourself before I blast you out of existence,” Zolf said, and his voice was low. And rough. And kind of tingly on Grizzop’s spine.

Artemis. He really needed to get them out of here.

“Look,” Grizzop said. “None of this is real. You’re both trapped in a mind control spell, and I’m here to get you out.”


	6. A Stowaway

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Azu is Perceptive. Hamid is Incredulous. Grizzop Did A Kill.

“So are we just going to stay here with them?” Azu asked softly, looking down at the sleeping trio, worry plain across her face. She was always like this - always trying to find a way to make things easier for everyone else around her, not worrying about herself. Hamid loved her a little bit harder, for how much she cared about them, at the same time wishing she would care as much for herself.

“Someone should stay with them, yes,” he said, squeezing her hand. “It shouldn’t take too long, knowing Grizzop, but also knowing Grizzop, there might be complications.”

Azu raised an eyebrow at him, and Hamid lifted a shoulder and dropped it. “The magic is very strong,” he said, glancing back towards the crystal. “And although I doubt it very much there is still a possibility that Grizzop could get… pulled into the narrative with them.”

Azu sucked at the side of her cheek, looking worried. “You think he might…”

“I very much doubt it,” Hamid said, smiling a little at the thought. While Campbell had expanded his repertoire a lot in the years they’d been away, a goblin protagonist in his romance novels had yet to appear, although there had been a few Orcs, much to Azu’s delight. 

Azu’s expression didn’t change, however, and Hamid frowned. “Come on, love,” Hamid said. “It’s _Grizzop._ He’s not going to… Where would it even start? I mean we know what those two have been like since we got back but Grizzop has never even...” he trailed off. Azu’s eyebrows had raised and she’d tilted her head to the side. “What? What is it?”

Azu sighed. “Have you… talked much to him? Since we came back? Since Damascus, even?”

“With Grizzop? A little bit. Here and there.”

“Have you seen him with Wilde at all?”

“Wilde’s always busy with paperwork.”

“Not… always.”

“What do you mean?”

“He… goes out at night.” Azu swallowed. “So does Grizzop.”

“Grizzop loves the moon. He hunts. He does rituals for Artemis and…”

“Mmm,” Azu said.

“I know they don’t hate each other quite so much any more. I know he helped Wilde while we were in Rome, but nothing _happened,_ we’d have known about it and any way Wilde and Zolf are…”

Azu sighed again and waved a hand. “It’s fine, Hamid. Grizzop wouldn’t let that get in the way of anything.”

“Let _what…”_ Hamid started, but was interrupted by Sasha poking her head in the door.

“They still asleep?” she said, confirming it with a look and a nod. 

“The spell went smoothly. Grizzop should have them out any minute.”

“Nice. Only Cel seems to think they can work out who caused this, and they’re talking about building something again and I know Wilde likes to know when Cel starts building stuff so he can clear the surrounding area of non-essential…”

“I’ll come and talk to them, Sasha,” Hamid said, then looked up at Azu.

Azu smiled at him, although Hamid could still see worry behind her eyes. “You go,” she said. “I’ll watch over them.”

#

Oscar was still muzzy headed from being hurt and healed and found himself clutching at Zolf’s arms as he stared at the person who had just _killed his brother._ A goblin - dark grey skin, massive red eyes, ears straight out and quivering with repressed energy. He was _dressed_ as a paladin, a paladin of Artemis by the symbol on his serviceable breastplate, but why would a paladin have killed Willie what… what was going on?

“Look,” the goblin was saying. “None of this is real. You’re trapped in a mind control spell and I’m here to get you out.”

Oscar blinked, then looked up at Zolf, who looked ready enough to kill. Willie _had_ attacked the goblin first however. And before that he’d said Oscar had ruined everything. Oscar had survived. Oscar had… 

Willie had… 

Oscar blinked again, trying desperately to clear the fog in his mind. The goblin was somehow more real than anything else in the room, more real than Willie’s body on the floor, than the firm muscle of Zolf’s forearm under his hand, than the rock and sway of the boat on the open ocean. The goblin seemed larger, more colourful, more _present_ than anyone Oscar had ever known. On top of that there was something achingly familiar about the way he stood, staring at them both with an expression that was half righteous anger and half…

...fond exasperation?

_Why did he feel so strongly that he knew him?_

“What did you say your name was?” Oscar asked.

“Grizzop,” the goblin said, focusing on Oscar. “You both know me. We work together. We’ve… we went through a lot. In Damascus…”

Oscar blinked. _Damascus._

Zolf _The Captain_ was standing in front of Oscar, his hands still raised, and Oscar knew power was dancing at his fingertips, ready to be called forth in less than a second to defend them against attack. A pleasant shiver worked its way down Oscar’s spine. “Why should we believe anything you say?” Zolf said. “There’s a dead body on the floor and you’re the one who put it there, he was this man’s brother, and you’re definitely not on my passenger manifest which makes you a _stowaway…”_

Grizzop bristled, if possible, even _more. “A stowaway???”_

 _“A stowaway,”_ Zolf repeated. “And there’s only one way to deal with stowaways on my ship.” He marched to the doorway and moved as if to throw it open, but the goblin rushed to intercept him. 

“Gods _don’t,_ don’t call for anyone else, I have to make you understand this _now_ while we’re alone or…”

The door opened before Zolf could get to it, and an orc boy Oscar recognised from his time on board poked his head through it.

“Capn’, our man’s safe below decks in the brig.”

“Good work.”

The boy looked at Grizzop and a strange expression flitted over his face. Blank. Calculating. Nothing like the good natured competence that had been there a second ago. 

“Who’s this?” he asked, and his voice was flat and expressionless as well. “He shouldn’t be here.”

“Got ourselves a stowaway,” Zolf said. 

“Right then,” the orc said, and strode forward. Grizzop backed away.

“Wilde. Zolf. You’ve _got_ to listen to me.”

“A murderer too?” the orc said, noticing Willie’s body on the floor of the cabin. “You want me to just throw him over the side?”

“The brig with him,” Zolf said, although there was a slight hesitation in his voice. 

“We only got the one cell, Cap’n.”

“Toss him in there with the other one. Disarm him first.”

The goblin drew his bow, but there wasn’t enough room in the cabin for him to get a good sighting on the orc, and the orc didn’t even blink. “I’m a _Paladin of Artemis!”_

“You’re coming with me,” the orc said. Grizzop looked back at Wilde, then at Zolf.

“If you let him take me he’ll kill me,” he said. “This is _important._ Hamid and Azu sent me here. You know them. You _know them.”_

Oscar blinked. Of course he knew them. He knew they’d been gone for months, for _years_ he knew he’d _failed_ them, just like he’d failed Grizzop, sent him to his death and left him with no one but Zolf to trust, no one to help him through the apocalypse…

“Wait,” Grizzop was saying, as the orc boy grabbed his arm and started dragging him towards the door. “Wait! Zolf don’t let him, let _go of me you big stupid non-existent_ … You _have_ to listen to me in Artemis’ name, _Oscar help…!_ ”

Instinct took over and Oscar found himself murmuring under his breath and waving a hand, calling on magic to hold the orc in place, not to hurt him in any way, but to stop him from taking Grizzop away, stop him from disrupting the memories that were clamoring to burst from some place deep inside him that had been cut off…

The shimmer of magic settled around him and Grizzop, able to free himself, let out a sigh of relief and shoved backwards. Zolf stepped in front of him, stopping him from approaching Oscar and holding out a hand protectively. Oscar felt a warmth in his gut at that, even as Zolf glanced back at him. “What are you doing?”

“I think we should hear him out,” Oscar said, fully sitting up now, flexing his shoulder where the bolt had penetrated. He felt no pain there at all any more, which was strange, magical healing was rarely so good as to make the echo of a wound disappear without a trace so quickly.

 _“Thank_ you,” Grizzop said.

“Just talk?” Zolf said.

“It can’t do any harm.”

“It’ll save your lives,” Grizzop said, then glanced at the orc. “But we can’t do it in front of _him.”_

Zolf sucked air in through his nose, then shrugged. He patted the orc on the shoulder. 

“Let him go, Mr Wilde,” he said. Oscar did so, and the orc flexed, moving towards Grizzop, who had the knife that had killed Wille drawn and pointing at him now. 

“Sir,” he said. “The goblin’s a murderer! And a _stowaway!”_

“We can handle him, Dorn,” Zolf said, voice stern. 

“I’m a _paladin,”_ the goblin said. “And that man was trying to kill his own brother. It was a completely _righteous_ murder, thank you very much.”

Zolf snapped his head towards Grizzop and shook it. “You’re not helping you know.”

Oscar was finding it difficult to wrap his head around the fact that Willie was dead. Willie was _dead._ His brother. His _brother’s corpse_ was lying on the floor of the cabin, his brother’s blood was spilled on the wood of the decking, his brother…

_...was in London with his mother, had been for years, his brother had shouted at him when he left, called him selfish for wanting something other than poverty and domesticity, had called him a whore for the dragons, a disappointment, a laughing stock, a…_

The memories slid through the fingers of his mind like water as Zolf ushered Dorn out the doorway. Grizzop let out a massive sigh of relief and latched the door behind him as he left, turning and crossing his arms over his chest to face Zolf and Oscar.

“Hamid wasn’t great at explaining the magic, but we can’t be sure they won’t try to interrupt with something else,” he said.

Zolf raised an eyebrow, looking down at Grizzop, then over at Oscar. Oscar nodded, encouraging, eager. Now perhaps they would get an explanation. 

“Right,” he said. “Start talking.”


	7. Revelations

Grizzop, as it turned out, wasn’t great at telling a story. He got the basics out fine, sure, but there was definitely a lot missing in the details.    
“We’re in a mercenary group. Well I was, and Hamid and Azu were, and Sasha. And you were too Zolf only you left for a while to have a sulk and then came back after we went to Rome and we didn’t know each other then? You and me met here, I mean in Japan, once we came back from Rome with the hostages…  _ any  _ way, not important right now, Rome isn’t. Wilde you weren’t in the group you were just kind of our boss? I guess? And we worked for the meritocrats and we’re investigating this thing, right, that has infected a lot of the population with blue veins wot control them but that’s not the important thing the important thing is that you and me and the others are all in an inn in Japan right now only you two are asleep and caught in some kind of … romance novel - ones like you  _ really  _ love, Zolf, I mean, like you love them a  _ lot  _ and it’s pretty much the only thing you’ll ever talk about without being grumpy, well at least unless Hamid tries to say anything about them then you get all glowery and… they’re by that Harriet Anderson… Alberforth Camberwell… I don’t remember his name but you and Barnes and Azu think the sun shines out of his behind or something… and it’s an enchantment right? From a crystal only we can’t break the crystal cos if we break that it might kill you so instead Hamid cast a spell to send me in here too and make sure you don’t die in here, cos if you die in here you die out there, oh and also I have tell you wot’s going on ‘cos according to Hamid that’s the way to break it.”

The goblin came to a halt and beamed at them both, all red eyes, sharp teeth and determination.

Zolf looked down at Wilde, who looked back up at Zolf for a second and blinked.

“I’m sorry,” Wilde said.  _ “What?” _

Grizzop’s grin slid off his face and he tapped his foot. “You,” he said, pointing at Wilde, “and him,” at Zolf “are caught in an illusion. I’m here to pull you out of it.”

Zolf was still lost, but glancing down at Wilde he saw realisation and recognition start to spread over his face. 

“Magical illusion, created to be triggered by proximity to an artefact, picking up on the thing uppermost in the mind of the person nearest to it… Zolf… Zolf you… you…” his face screwed up, and he looked as though every word came with difficulty. “You read Harrison Campbell  _ all the time  _ when you’re on guard duty and you would have come up to my room to… to…”

“To tell you to go the fuck to sleep, probably,” Zolf muttered, then felt a shiver run through his whole body as memories crowded in like a flood… 

* * *

_ To be honest it wasn’t his favourite of Campbell’s, possibly because there were too many things he could pick at as a former sailor. He’d done his best, he knew the difference between Port and Bow, but he had little to know idea of what was required to keep a ship afloat and Zolf had found himself getting frustrated every time he tried to describe it. _

_ That said, the protagonist, Merle Highwind, was romantic and windswept and his love interest, the dynamic pirate queen, witty and grizzled and Zolf could skp through the worst of it to get to the good parts. _

_ He was humming slightly under his breath as he slid open Wilde’s door, one of the sea shanties that Campbell had transcribed that Zolf recognised. He’d made a habit of checking Wilde’s room before he made his way his own, to be certain the man was actually in his bed and not still working, having snuck paperwork from the reading room in to escape Zolf’s constant badgering…  _

_ He stepped through the door, thinking of the moment in the novel where the protagonist and the pirate had first met, the sheer romance of it, Highwind’s gaze enraptured by the flowing locks and stern stance of Brianna as she stood in the prow of her ship - _

_ -and there was a blinding flash of light- _

* * *

“Fuck,” Zolf swore, softly, and one look at Wilde made him aware that a similar rush of memory had hit him as well. Only Wilde didn’t look the way Zolf felt. No. Wilde looked… smug. Zolf sucked in air through his nose. “Don’t start.”

Wilde’s smile was full of malicious glee, the kind of expression utterly unique to Wilde - albeit not the Wilde he had come to know in the past year and a half. That Wilde was stern and serious and occasionally unreachable, determined to see this through, to finish the mission, to keep his people alive and safe. It had certainly been more common, back in London, in Paris, in Prague - than it was now. But it was unmistakably  _ Wilde  _ in a way the caricature of him that whatever spell this was had layered over his form was  _ not. _

_ Gods what had  _ he  _ looked like? As something out of a romance novel? _

He swallowed. A romance novel. With him. 

And Wilde.

“I think it’s delightful,” Wilde was saying. “A glimpse inside the maze like mind of Zolf Smith. Twists and turns and revelations - so  _ very  _ romantic and atmospheric and -”

“Shut up, you.”

Wilde’s eyes continued to twinkle. “I mean obviously I was the love interest, one would never place this…” he indicated himself “in the position of being anything other than a damsel to be rescued… which means…” Wilde stroked his chin.

“This is ridiculous,” Zolf said. He knew he was blushing, trying very hard not to look back at Grizzop. “It’s a magic spell. That’s all.” 

The goblin cleared his throat.

“Um. So. I’ve told you the deal and you remember me now right?”

Wilde nodded.

“Yes, Grizzop,” Zolf said, sighing. “We remember you now.”

“So why are we still…” the lurch as the ship was suddenly and violently slammed by what Zolf recognised as a wave unbalanced Grizzop so he went flying into the door. He slid down onto the floor, but picked himself up almost immediately, flicking his ears and looking around himself, as though to find out what had caused him to lose his footing.

“What was…” Wilde started, when another, greater wave hit, launching the ship upwards before it felt like the floor dropped away underneath them. A shuddering crash as the bow hit the water again made Zolf’s heart thump hard against his chest.

“Storm,” he said. “There’s a storm outside.”

“So?” Grizzop said. “It’s not real!”

“You said if we die in the dream we die outside!” Zolf shouted, yanking the door open. His crew - his imaginary crew - were rushing about, doing all the things one would expect a crew to do in a sudden onslaught of bad weather. 

“We should be  _ out  _ of the dream by now!” Grizzop yelled, following Zolf as he rushed up towards the deck.

“Well we ain’t, are we?” Zolf said. “Whatever magic Hamid said this was he’s obviously got it  _ wrong.” _

“It’s triggered illusion magic,” Zolf heard Wilde muttering behind them. “I’ve seen this before. Gods why can’t I…”

“You should stay below,” Zolf said. “Both of you…”

“The storm is almost certainly a defense mechanism,” Wilde said. “Because the illusion is threatened.”

“What would be the point of it?”

“To keep us in the illusion! To stop us from working out…”

But Wilde’s voice was drowned out by the howl of the wind and the smash of the waves on the ship as they got up on deck. Zolf saw a crewman desperately struggling to get up the mast to adjust a sail, another shouting orders at the helmsman. 

“Why are they bothering?” Grizzop yelled.

“They have to follow the rules of the world when we’re present!” Oscar shouted back. “The illusion… inter… consistent… we…” Oscar’s words were whipped away by the winds even as the ship lurched upwards to the crest of a wave again. 

Zolf was looking frantically about the deck, trying to see what he needed to do to keep the ship from bashing itself to bits, and he could just hear the sound of Grizzop giving out a yell as a gust of wind strong enough to make him stumble blew across the deck.

He felt rather than heard Oscar scream behind him - whipped his head around just in time to see the goblin going over the side, a tiny figure of black and green against the dark, heaving mass of the sea. 

Zolf didn’t hesitate. The sense of deja-vu was so strong, the feeling of knowing precisely what he needed to do. At least this time he wasn’t wearing a damned chain vest. At least this time he wasn’t being tested by a cruel and capricious god, his friends made to pay the price for his own stupidity.

No. This time his friend was in trouble, and Zolf was the one who had to save him.

He sprinted across the deck and dived into the water.


	8. The Inevitable Climax

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oscar realises something. So does Zolf.

This was far too familiar to Grizzop, the feeling of pressing cold and salt water and sinking and lack of control. It wasn’t the same, he had to keep telling himself that, he wasn’t being flushed out, wasn’t tumbling through tunnels and slamming into walls, this was  _ just water  _ and he knew how to swim now but his breastplate was heavy, so heavy and the water was shockingly cold.

It had  _ hurt  _ too, to hit the water, the ship was high enough on the wave and he’d fallen a long way and the smack of it against him had punched all the air from his lungs and then he’d had time to do nothing save struggle to stay afloat. 

Breastplate. He needed to get it off. His bow was gone and his fingers were cold, but not yet numb, so he kicked desperately against the pull of the depths and fumbled with straps. 

One clicked off. He managed a ragged breath in before a wave hit him in the face and the sound of tearing wind, thunder and rain was replaced by the sickening remembered sound of water surrounding his whole head, blocking his ears, stopping him from breathing, screaming, reaching out for his clutch…

Another buckle. He should have used a dagger, but there are only two more to go and he could do this, he can  _ do… _

A large, strong hand grasped his upper arm and pulled him upwards so his head broke the surface and Zolf was there, Zolf’s other hand reaching to undo the other buckle and the dead weight of his breastplate sank beneath them and Grizzop could kick properly now, keep his head above water, except that the water was heaving and thrashing around them so much, and every time he thought they’d gotten closer to the ship it seemed further away. He could hear Zolf muttering under his breath, something about spells and domains and he  _ definitely  _ hears “fucking Poseidon” at some point. 

“I can swim,” Grizzop shouted, and Zolf gave him a look. “Shouldn’t you be sinking?”

“Apparently in this universe I have legs,” Zolf shouted back, giving a strong kick - the kick, of someone who knew the water well, who was a powerful swimmer.

Grizzop wondered, not for the first time, what had caused the loss of his leg - the first one. With that wondering came the memory that the sea wasn’t necessarily empty of things that might consider a dwarven leg, or an entire goblin, something of a treat, and another shot of fear and adrenalin rushed through him.

They set out again, Zolf not hampered by Grizzop any longer, both swimming as well as could be expected in the choppy sea. But the sea was actively trying to keep them away from the ship, and Grizzop realised with a sinking heart that nothing short of the storm completely dying was going to let them make any real progress.

They were going to drown.

* * *

Oscar shouted after Zolf as he saw him run to the edge - jumping into the water was the stupidest thing he’d ever seen the dwarf do and he’d seen him do a lot of stupid things over the years he’d known him. But Grizzop was a small black dot in the water and Oscar could see Zolf surging towards him through it with long, powerful strokes. His brain was ticking, churning as he watched them meet up. He  _ knew  _ illusion and divination magic, this was his entire speciality, but more than that, he knew  _ stories.  _ This universe was based on certain narrative expectations. Zolf had been reading Harrison Campbell (because he loved them, because they spoke to him in some unknown way, because they were the only thing that could bring that soft smile of wonder to his face when he thought Oscar wasn't looking) and the vision was based on the narrative inevitability of certain types of fiction which meant in order to escape the illusion…

...in order to escape the illusion…

Zolf and Grizzop had found each other now and Oscar could see them swimming desperately back towards the ship, but the waves were crashing against them, tossing them like corks back and forth, and they were making no headway. The storm was simply too furious, Zolf and Grizzop too small and helpless against its wrath.

Well.

The story had rules and far be for Oscar Wilde to deny it a dramatic conclusion. This was, at its base, an illusion, and Oscar Wilde, if he was nothing else (and he was so much more than that) was a master at illusion.

He took a deep breath, gripped the railing with both hands, and began to sing.

* * *

Zolf could feel the strain in his arms and legs, the drag of the water against him, it was getting more and more difficult to keep his head above it, to keep his arms and legs moving enough to stay in the same spot, let alone make any progress. Next to him Grizzop was grim and silent and working just as hard, probably harder as the goblin didn’t have nearly as much buoyancy - Grizzop was all bones and sinew and muscle and he would be feeling the cold far more as well. 

This wasn’t real, and there was no point in crying out to a god that he didn’t even believe in any longer. But it also wasn’t fair. Wasn’t fair that he was going to go like this - again - wasn’t fair that he couldn’t help Grizzop, wasn’t fair that they were trapped in an illusion because of his own stupidity and…

The water around them abruptly went flat and smooth as glass. The wind died and the sudden silence around them would have been absolute, if it weren’t for the sound of the song.

Zolf knew Oscar’s voice. Would recognise it anywhere, although he knew before the infection he’d rarely used it in its full bardic glory. The lyrics of this song rang out over the calm ocean - sung in his native gaelic, a song that Zolf did not recognise but spoke to those parts of him that had so loved the sea.

He glanced at Grizzop, who had, of course, realised what was happening more quickly than Zolf, and struck out in the suddenly calm water towards the ship. 

The swim was simple now, just a straight line to the edge of the ship, where Wilde had thrown a rope over the edge, still singing, the melody never faltering, the storm held back by the power of his voice alone.

Zolf was tired, exhausted by the time he reached the rope, but he gave Grizzop a shove up onto it, watched as the goblin scrambled up, then followed, hand over agonising hand, until he flopped onto the deck, lying on his back and panting up at the sky, which was now clearing as Oscar’s song came to its end.

“Didn’t think bards could control the weather,” Grizzop said. He was sitting on the deck as well, arms resting on his knees, ears dripping water and drooping. The occasional shiver went through him and Zolf had to repress the urge to pull the goblin back into his arms and rub some warmth into those skinny limbs.

“Can’t control the weather,” Oscar said, smiling down at them. “But this is all an illusion. And illusion is my specialty.”

“Right then,” Zolf said. “So illusion us out of this.”

Oscar glanced around the deck. The fake sailors were now going about their duties, as though the sudden storm and it’s magical conclusion were ordinary occurrences. Oscar blew air out of his cheeks, then looked back down at Zolf and Grizzop. “I can’t illusion us out of it,” Oscar said. “But I think I know another way.”

“Well what are you waiting for?”

“You’re not going to like it.”

“Does it look like I’m liking  _ this?” _

“If you’ve got a way out of this, Wilde,” Grizzop said. “Then bloody well  _ do it.” _

Oscar reached out a hand to help Zolf up, but Grizzop scrambled up to his feet before he could do the same for him. Zolf saw Oscar chew at the side of his cheek for a moment, then let out a breath.

“So I’ve done some thinking about the rules of the illusion. This has been set up as a… distraction. A puzzle of sorts. Had Grizzop not arrived the scenario would have played out to its logical conclusion - the end of the story, and we would have woken up.”

“Makes sense,” Zolf said. “Seems like an awful lot of bother for just a few hours of distraction though.”

“Oh had we been fully ensorceled by it there was a chance we could have been trapped here for days. So Grizzop’s intervention, despite that unpleasantness with the storm, is actually very timely. Fortunately for us though, this is a romance novel, right?” Oscar said and Zolf felt his stomach do a flip.

“Yes,” Zolf said. 

“And romance novels have a very...uh… predictable end point. When it comes to… the main protagonists.”

The dots were too close together for Zolf not to be able to join them. “Oh,” he said,  _ “piss.” _

“Wot?” Grizzop said.

Zolf let out a breath and shook his head, pointing at Grizzop. “You, don’t tell  _ any  _ of the others about this,” he said, then reached up to where Oscar was looking down at him with a… suitably chagrined expression on his face.

“Do we need to do some sort of dramatic speech, do you think?” Oscar said, and Zolf growled under his breath.

“What, calming the storm for us wasn’t dramatic enough for you?”

He tangled his hand in the hair at the back of Oscar’s head, tugging him downwards. Oscar put his hand on Zolf’s chest, gently holding him back. “I’m sorry,” he said, softly.

“You don’t have to be you great berk,” Zolf said, and kissed him.

It felt like the world held its breath.

Zolf knew that a simple peck on the lips wasn’t going to be enough, not to fulfil Campbell ideals of what a romantic scene needed. Fine. Zolf would give the illusion what it wanted, not that it was anything he had thought about before now, not that he’d never thought about how Oscar’s lips could be soft and pliant under Zolf’s, and fit so, so perfectly. He hooked his other arm around Oscar’s waist and pulled him closer, bringing his head down so he could thoroughly explore Oscar’s lips with his, feel the soft huff of warm breath against his mouth when they pulled back a second before leaning in again. 

He shouldn’t be enjoying this. It was the spell - the illusion that made Zolf shiver all the way down to his toes at the gentle push and pull of their mouths together. It was the spell that made him rock upwards, yearning for more contact, more touch, more taste. It was the spell that made him gasp as Oscar lifted his head again, smoothing one hand through the hair at his temple, cupping his cheek, tangling those long fingers in the hair of his beard.

“Enough, do you think?” he said, and it was definitely the spell that was making Oscar’s breath come faster, giving his eyes that sparkle of life and pleasure.

That was nothing Zolf could possibly engender in Oscar Wilde.

“What,” came Grizzop’s voice, breaking into the moment that they were definitely  _ not  _ lost in, “the  _ fuck  _ are you two doing?”

Oscar blinked. “Breaking the spell,” he said.

“By  _ snogging?” _

Zolf felt a whole body blush start to creep over him.

“Yes!” Oscar said. 

Grizzop flung his arms out wide, indicating the ship, the deck, the crew still going about their duties and everything else around them. Still seemingly solid. Still very much not Wilde’s bedroom back at the inn.

“Well it didn’t  _ work.” _

“Do we need to try again?” Zolf said, and his knees felt a little weak at that prospect. 

Oscar gave him a wild look, then looked back at Grizzop. “Oh gods,” he said.

“What?” Grizzop said.

“There’s three of us now,” he said. “Three protagonists.”

Grizzop looked at Zolf, then back at Wilde. “What. I need to snog you too?”

“Possibly?” 

“Which one?”

Oscar glanced at Zolf. “Um.”

Zolf wasn’t sure what he expected. An argument. Some kind of deflection. What he didn’t expect was for Grizzop to frown, suck at his teeth, drag his gaze up and down both Zolf  _ and  _ Wilde, and then shrug. “I’ve kissed worse,” he said. Less than a second later he was up against Zolf, jumping into his arms and wrapping strong goblin legs around his waist. He took Zolf’s face into his hands. 

“If this works,” he said, “we never talk about it ever again, right?”

Zolf, who had completely lost the capacity for speech, nodded, and Grizzop kissed him.

Oscar had kissed with skill and finesse. Grizzop kissed with determination and enthusiasm. About halfway through he felt one of the hands around his neck reach upwards, and suddenly Oscar was there as well and Grizzop’s mouth freed Zolf’s and switched to Oscar’s and there was a moment of  _ twisting  _ and a moment of  _ stomach dropping intensity  _ and then…

… and then…

...Darkness.


	9. That's That

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things are awkward. There is a mystery to solve. Cel is handy.

Azu was used to sitting on watch for long periods, luckily, and although she hadn’t been at the temple in Cairo for very long, she was also familiar with the concept of holding vigil. This, sitting in Wilde’s room watching three of her companions sleep, felt like a vigil of sorts. She wasn’t wearing her armor and did not have her axe nearby, but the tatami mats of the room were comfortable under her as she sat, watching the faces of her friends.

She hadn’t known any of them for very long. Grizzop’s face was the most familiar although it was rare to see it at rest like this. Wilde’s face - so much altered since she’d last seen it in Damascus - also looked peaceful and younger in repose, the hard lines of the missing year less obvious, the scar half hidden by the curl of hair over his cheek.

Zolf looked like an entirely different person, asleep as he was. She’d not known the man, save for one drunken night in quarantine - to have any other expression than a scowl. Asleep he looked like an entirely different dwarf, the lack of expression smoothing lines she had assumed were made by age. His white hair had always made it easy to imagine him as decades older than all of them. And perhaps, with the vagueries of dwarven and orcish lifespans, he was. But he looked far more vulnerable now, and Azu felt a surge of protectiveness towards him - towards all three of them.

She bowed her head, and murmured a short prayer to Aphrodite. Surprisingly, she felt a stronger than usual response, as though Aphrodite herself was looking over the trio, not just Azu. She felt suffused with warmth and joy, and smiled, closing her eyes and simply enjoying the touch of her goddess.

Which was why she nearly leapt to her feet when she heard Grizzop’s voice.

“Right. That’s done then,” he said, sounding a little groggy, but almost his usual self. She blinked open her eyes and saw the goblin getting to his feet with all his usual haste. Wilde and Zolf were also beginning to stir.

Azu stood up. “Are you all right? Grizzop? Wilde?” she moved forward, thinking to offer them healing, but Grizzop waved her off.

“Nope. Completely fine. They’re done. We’re done. Where’s the damned crystal… I think we should smash it…”

“I think Hamid might want to examine it before…” Azu held up her hands and moved in front of where the crystal was, still lying in the corner of the room. “Cel was going to try to trace who…”

“Leave it, Grizzop,” Wilde said, and Azu glanced at him to see he was on his feet. “Azu’s right, we need to know who planted it.”

Azu noticed that Wilde’s cheeks were faintly coloured, as were Zolf’s. She also noticed that none of the three of them were looking at each other.

“What happened in there?” she asked.

“Not important,” Zolf said, and he was speaking too quickly. “We got out. That’s the main thing.”

“Mmmm hmmmm.” Azu glanced down at Grizzop, who was glaring at Zolf and Wilde, arms crossed over his chest. When he saw her looking at him, he looked up.

“Right. Not important. Where’s Hamid then?”

“Sasha said she and Cel had an idea of how to track where the crystal came from.”

“Oh…” Zolf looked up at Wilde whose face had lost its slightly pink tinge and had turned grim. 

“Sasha  _ and  _ Cel? Together?” he asked.

“That’s… why Hamid went to…”

Wilde, who was still wearing the suit he presumably went to sleep in, pulled a handkerchief from one sleeve. “Where’s the crystal?” he asked.

Azu pointed to where it was sitting in the corner, dull and lifeless now. 

Wilde strode to the corner, or attempted to, Zolf had one hand on his arm holding him back.

“You sure that’s a good idea? We don’t want to be going back in there.”

Wilde flashed him a look, and Azu swore she saw a twinkle in his eye. 

“Not even a little bit, Zolf?”

Zolf’s lip curled, but Azu could see a blush rise on  _ his  _ cheeks. “You know the magic better’n I do.” he said, gruffly, and Wilde grinned. He flourished the handkerchief in front of Zolf’s face, then leaned down and picked up the crystal, careful not to touch any part. Azu heard both Zolf and Grizzop suck in a breath, but the moment passed, and nothing happened.

“Right,” Wilde said, tucking the crystal into his pocket. “Let’s go find Cel and Sasha before they burn down the inn.”

* * *

“That’s all very interesting, Cel,” Hamid said, trying to get the tall half-elf back on track,  _ somehow,  _ after they had been going off on a tangent about the resonance of certain magical energies in crystals that were only present in the mountains in North Western America. “But what does your device actually  _ do?” _

They were in Cel’s makeshift workshop - a converted shed nearer the coast - out of sound range of the inn. Cel preferred to work in their village, but circumstances after their return from the institute had necessitated they have a workspace closer than three hours journey. As such…

They’d still managed to accumulate a lot of detritus over the weeks - and Hamid had only vague ideas of what half of it did. It honestly looked like something out of that novel he’d read just before they went to Rome - the one about the... animated corpse, sensational and odd stuff - so many tubes and tables of equipment and flasks and strangely coloured liquids…

There was a knock at the door of the shed. Cel, who had opened their mouth to begin another (almost certainly) long winded discussion of their methods, looked surprised. Hamid looked up, to see Wilde.

“Hello Hamid,” he said, and his voice was more jovial than Hamid had heard it since they all turned up on his doorstep in Japan for quarantine. Weeks ago.

“Good to to see you Oscar. I’m assuming the situation with the crystal..”

Oscar was pushed forward into the room and Hamid saw Grizzop - behind him Zolf and Azu, although the latter two could not come into the workshop. There simply was not enough room.

“Is resolved yes. Azu said you and Cel were working on a way to find the culprit behind this whole situation?”

“Yes!” Cel beamed up at them. “As I as telling Hamid, we can use this…” they waved the thing - Hamid thought it looked a lot like the weapons Earhart had used, back on the airship to Prague, and maybe Oscar thought that too, as he leaned back a little as it pointed in his direction “to track the magical resonance of the crystal, find the specific magical signature of whoever imbued it, and then…” they fluttered their free hand “poof!”

“It’ll kill them?” Zolf said.

Cel’s face fell. “No. No it’ll… beep. And give a direction for us to follow. It’ll beep more the closer we get to them or to the place they cast the spell. Like… a magic detector? But I’ll need the crystal to be imbedded here…” they indicated an empty socket on the barrel of the device. 

Oscar fished in his pocket and pulled out something wrapped in a handkerchief. Hamid recognised the crystal as Cell took it and slotted it into its place on the device, then fiddled with a knob on the side.

There was a snap-hiss of sound and the device lit up. 

“Tada!” Cel said, and Wilde, to Hamid’s surprise, gave a small, polite, golf clap. 

“Good,” he said. “So. Where does it want us to go?”

Cel peered at it, and waved it around a bit more. “Back towards the inn,” they said.

“Well then,” Wilde said with a flourish, and they all piled back outside.

The device lead them directly to Carter’s room.

“Honestly, I don’t know what I expected,” Zolf said. 

“Do you think he’s infected?” Hamid asked. 

“No the vaccine was fully effective,” Azu said and Grizzop nodded vigorously. The two of them, and Zolf, had worked tirelessly for weeks with Cel, developing the vaccine and Carter, along with the rest of them, had been among the first to test it. 

“More than likely this was some kind of elaborate prank on his behalf,” Wilde said. 

“Why?” Hamid asked and he saw Wilde glance at Zolf, and then at Grizzop, and suck in a breath through his nose. 

“Who can really know, with Carter?” he said. “In any case when he gets back from the mainland with Barnes we’ll have a talk about… appropriate behaviour.”

“Don’t think a talk’ll do much good,” Zolf muttered, and Hamid privately agreed. 

“You and Grizzop can sit in on it, if you like,” Wilde said. 

“Much obliged,” Grizzop said, and Hamid could hear the grin in his voice.

“What _did_ happen in that dream of yours?” Cel asked, but Wilde was ushering them away from Carter’s room and Zolf and Grizzop were going their separate ways.

“Nothing important,” Wilde said, at the same time Zolf said “None of your business” and Grizzop said “A whole lot of idiocy, is what happened in there.”

“ _ Really _ … I mean like… what…”

“Cel,” Wilde’s voice was stern, this time, with that edge of command Hamid had only heard since their return from Rome. “Enough.”

Cel looked like they were vibrating in place, but Grizzop and Zolf had disappeared to their respective rooms and Sasha had gone missing somewhere along the way (probably up towards the roof) and Hamid had had enough of that particular cold expression on Wilde’s face to last him three lifetimes.

Cel grumbled under their breath, but wandered off any way, and Wilde turned to Hamid and Azu. “Well?” he said.

“Nothing,” Hamid said, taking Azu’s hand in his. She gave it a gentle squeeze and Hamid was suddenly, overwhelmingly grateful for her presence. “I’m just glad you’re all okay, Oscar.”

Oscar’s smile was tight, and brief. “So am I, Hamid,” he said, and that, it seemed, was that.


	10. Simple

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hamid and Azu love gossip. Wilde and Zolf are awkward. Sasha is direct. Grizzop catches on.

All three of them slept through the night. At least, as far as the rest of the inn was concerned they did. There was no light in Oscar’s office indicating he was working, no movement in the kitchen. The practice range was empty of a small figure shooting arrows into dummies with determination. 

“What do you think  _ happened  _ in there, Hamid?” Azu was sitting cross legged on their shared bed, a pauldron in her lap, ostensibly polishing it or whatever it was she did with all those straps and buckles, but the piece had been sitting in her lap for a quarter of an hour now and Azu had simply been staring into the middle distance, lower lip caught (adorably, in Hamid’s opinion) between her teeth.

“I haven’t read any Campbell lately,” Hamid said. “I’m assuming it was more of what I saw when I looked into their dreams.”

“You said it was on a ship, right? So it was probably based on  _ Winds of Passion -  _ Zolf doesn’t even  _ like  _ that one so maybe his subconscious was trying to fix it somehow…?”

Hamid grinned at her, then came over and gently moved the armour out of her lap so he could crawl into it. “By making himself and Wilde the protagonists?”

“Yes! Zolf the dashing sea captain and Wilde the disgraced noble,” she giggled a little, into Hamid’s neck as he snuggled closer.

“It certainly looked a lot like that was the direction things were going.”

He felt Azu sigh against him and twisted a little so he could look up into her face. “What is it?”

“I am worried about them,” she said, after a second of contemplation.

“Zolf and Oscar?” 

“Yes. Zolf probably more than Oscar. I think he still believes he deserves… to… I don’t know? Pay for things? For his brother, and for leaving you. As though he’s responsible for all the bad things that have happened to you since then.”

“He’s… complicated.”

“Maybe not as complicated as he thinks he is,” Azu smiled sadly.

“Do you think we should talk to him?”

Azu hummed under her breath, kissing the top of Hamid’s head absently. “I don’t think we will need to,  _ wapenzi.” _

“Oh?”

He felt her smile against his hair. “We’ll see.”

* * *

It was difficult to avoid people when you lived in the same house with them, even if the house was a relatively large inn, one that you’d lived in for months, one where you’ve developed a routine that you follow without thinking.

Zolf got up early, as he usually did. Went to the kitchen, like he usually did. Made himself and Wilde some breakfast, as he usually did and was outside the door to Wilde’s office before he was hit with an all senses memory of…

_ … Oscar’s mouth on his, his hand splayed in the middle of his back, fingers tugging at his hair and tracing over his skin, tall, lanky body pressed against him… _

He  _ didn’t  _ drop the tray. But now he was standing outside Wilde’s office with a tray of food and tea and paralyzed at the thought of seeing him again.   
_ Don’t be a fucking idiot, Zolf. It’s what you do every damned morning. He’s not going to… _

The door slid open. Zolf looked up into Oscar’s face - mouth open in surprise at finding Zolf there. 

“Oh,” he said. “I was just… you didn’t have to… I wasn’t sure if you’d…”

Zolf couldn’t seem to make his voice work. Instead he was just standing there like a damned fool, looking up into Oscar’s eyes, blinking.

The tray was getting heavy. Oscar’s words stumbled to a halt and he glanced down, then made a frustrated sound and lifted it out of Zolf’s hands. 

Freed of his burden, Zolf’s first instinct was to turn around and run. But the tray carried  _ both  _ their breakfasts and that would be completely weird, weirder than everything that had already happened, and Oscar was stepping back and indicating that Zolf should come inside and take his usual seat so they could share thoughts and eat and  _ all of this was routine why did it feel so different now? _

Mechanically (ha) Zolf walked into the room and sat, stiff and awkward, in his usual seat. Oscar put down the tray. Hesitated for a moment, then did the same, picking up his tea cup and sipping at it as he too, sat.

Silence descended.

* * *

Grizzop woke early and grabbed a roll from the kitchen to eat on his way to the practice grounds. He liked to spend the first hour warming up, shooting, feeling the comforting presence of his lady in the morning light.

There was something so very satisfying in the pull and stretch of his muscles, the sharp twang of his bowstring, the solid thunk of the arrows sinking into the target. 

“Aight, Grizzop?” Sasha turned up, as she normally did around this time, daggers also ready to practice. Grizzop grinned at her and nodded. 

They worked in silence for a while, taking comfort in each other’s presence. Ever since Damascus Sasha had been the easiest of their group to be with like this, just doing what needed to be done. No fuss. No complicated emotions or pretense. 

No dancing around things.

“So what was with the dream then?” she asked, finally. “How’d you get out?”

Grizzop drew, and fired. “Had to kiss them both.”

Sasha, who had a dagger in one hand, dropped it. “You  _ what _ mate?”

Again, he drew and fired. Actions as easy as breathing. “So," he said, not stopping the smooth slide of a new arrow into its slot, the pull and release of the string, "Wilde said it was illusion magic, right? And we know the illusion magic was based on them books what Zolf and Azu love and they have… I dunno what you call them… expectations of what is going to happen, you know? Plot wise.”

Sasha bent down and picked up the dagger, aiming and throwing at the target next to Grizzop’s. “Well yeah, if it’s a romance they’ve gotta kiss.”

“Yeah, and apparently it wasn’t enough just to tell them they were in an illusion like what Hamid said it would be so Wilde worked out that to get out they’d have to… you know… do what the book wanted them to.”

“Makes sense. But why were  _ you  _ kissing them?”

Grizzop trudged up to the target and started pulling his arrows out, checking the fletching on each one as he did it. “Cos Zolf and Wilde had a good old snog and nothing happened. They kind of just… did the thing and then we were all standing there.”

“You saw them kissing?”

“Oh yeah! Tongue and everything. But they finished and they were all gooey-eyed at each other and nothin’ happened and Wilde worked out that because I was there too the magic thought there were three main characters instead of two, which meant I had to… well you know.”

“So you  _ did it?” _

Grizzop turned around and looked at her. “Yeah. ‘Course I did. Didn’t want to be stuck on that ship forever, did I?”

Sasha wasn’t throwing knives any longer. She was just looking at him.

“Did you like it?”

Grizzop tilted his head. Thought about what it had felt like, to be cradled in Zolf's arms - strong, thick arms, one hand hooked under his backside, solid and dependable and so very Zolf. Thought about how soft Wilde's hair had felt in his fingers, how hot his breath had been against his mouth. He shrugged. “Yeah I guess. It was nice. Kissing’s nice.”

“I didn’t think the Artemis lot was into… you know… kissing.”

“We’re not Aphrodite but we’re not against it. Well. Not all of us. Sure  _ my lady _ doesn’t but that’s  _ her _ choice.”

Sasha looked nonplussed for a moment, then blew air out her cheeks. “Oh. Right. So what do you reckon’ll happen now then?”

“With what?”

Sasha jerked her head up towards Wilde’s office. “With them two. They finally get it do you think?”

“What that they’re in love with each other? Artemis knows. They’re stupider than Bertie, some days.”

Sasha grinned at him, then hefted another dagger. “Maybe you should tell them.”

“Why?”

“Well you’ve kissed ‘em both now, right? Maybe they just need someone who's been there to point it out.” Grizzop shifted, a strange feeling blooming in his gut. He wondered if he’d eaten that roll too fast this morning or… “Grizzop?”

“Wot?” Sasha was looking at him, head tilted, a glint in her eyes that he’d never seen before.

“Grizzop did you  _ want  _ to kiss them?”

The strange feeling intensified. Twisted. Settled. He swallowed. “Uh. That’s not…”

“I mean we know them two have wanted to kiss each other since… well to be honest since the first time Zolf ‘eadbutted Wilde but I didn’t realise… oh was _that_ why you punched him in Cairo? Is that like… something you do? As courtship or something… cos I’ve hit a lot of people and I’ve never…”

Grizzop put his bow on the rack and turned, patting Sasha on the hand and cutting off her rambling. “Thanks Sasha,” he said, then turned back to the inn, and started towards Wilde’s office.

“For what?” Sasha called after him. “Hey. For  _ what? _ ”

_ Everything’s kind of simple, when you think about it. _

“Grizzop?”


	11. Trouble

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Resolution and retribution?

Oscar was used to awkward situations. Gods, usually he was the cause of them, and was guilty of taking disproportionate delight in the discomfort of others.

Sitting across the table from Zolf this morning, however, drinking tea and trying to force down breakfast when his stomach was, he was certain, attempting to crawl its way out through his mouth, was excruciating.

Usually they talked, in the morning. Went over the previous day’s paperwork. Talked about how Sasha was doing with her sailing, what new insanities Cel had cooked up, how the distribution of the vaccine was going, whether Carter had…

… done something stupid.

Again.

Oscar found himself tapping his fingers on his desk, thinking about Carter and the crystal. Thinking about the illusion they’d been trapped in. Thinking about Zolf looking up into his eyes, lips parted, breath coming quicker than it was wont, the feel of his beard under his fingers…

“Sleep okay?” he said. Or tried to say. It came out a croak and he had to swallow and then try again, glancing at Zolf, whose eyes skidded away from his as soon as he found them, a faint blush of colour on his cheeks.

“Uh. Yeah,” Zolf said. “You?”

Oscar hadn’t slept at all and Zolf probably knew it. But he had at least shown willing, going to his room  _ before  _ the usual time, for no reason whatsoever, not because if he hadn’t Zolf would have come up to check on him like he normally did. Not because he was terrified that last night, perhaps, for whatever reason, Zolf  _ wouldn’t  _ come up to check on him and gently insist he get some rest and smile fondly at him when he argued.

“Tolerably,” he said, and Zolf raised an eyebrow at that, and the gesture was a little touch of familiarity that Oscar was embarrassed to cling to. 

“MMmm.” 

“Indeed.”

He took another sip of tea and wondered if it was possible for the earth to swallow him whole. He could probably use illusion magic to make it look that way.

As it was every movement, every sound in the room felt amplified. When Zolf shifted forward and set his teacup back on the tray, Oscar almost yelped in surprise. “Look,” Zolf said, and the tone in his voice made Oscar’s heart start to try to join his stomach in violently exciting his chest cavity. 

“What?” he said, too sharply. Too quickly. 

Zolf startled at the tone. “What  _ what _ ?” he said.

“Sorry no. You were going to -”

“I think we need to have a -”

“If it’s about what I -”

A thudding on the stairs made them both look up towards the door, and it slid open with a crash that the entire inn must have heard to reveal Grizzop. He was in his training gear, shirt open at the top and sleeves rolled up, cheeks flushed from obviously  _ running  _ up the stairs and Oscar shoved back his chair, convinced that something had gone wrong, they were under attack, the infected had relapsed… 

But Grizzop just stood there, one hand still on the doorframe, grinning from ear to ear. 

“Grizzop?” Zolf said. He’d also stood up, reaching for his glaive which wasn’t there.

“Wotcher,” Grizzop said. “You told each other yet?”

Oscar blinked. “Told each other what?”

Grizzop rolled his eyes. “That you’re in love. I figured that’s what you were up here for.”

Oscar glanced at Zolf, whose mouth was open, blinking stupidly at Grizzop.

“I…” 

“It’s just that it’d be good if you could hurry up and get that bit out of the way so I can tell you  _ my  _ bit of news.”

“You have… news?” Oscar said.

“Have you  _ told each other you’re in love yet?” _

“No?” Zolf said.

Grizzop let out an exasperated sigh, shoulders slumping and ears flicking. “Well get on with it!” 

“Grizzop… what?”

“Get. On. With. It. I can wait but not  _ that  _ long.”

Oscar looked at Zolf again, helpless in the face of Grizzop’s utter determination, then back at Grizzop. “Maybe you should…”

“I love you,” Zolf blurted out. Oscar looked back at him, saw his hands twisted together, saw his eyes wide and fearful. Afraid that he shouldn’t be saying that. Afraid that  _ Oscar might not return his feelings. _ If he wasn’t caught up in a maelstrom of his own idiotic  _ proprieties  _ and  _ priorities  _ and  _ pride  _ he would have laughed out loud. 

As if it could ever have been possible  _ not _ to love him, after two years of trust, companionship, loyalty and arguments and Zolf’s steady, unrelenting, overwhelming  _ goodness.  _ As if he could have poured so much care into Oscar without a thought for himself and not have it returned. 

Zolf opened his mouth again. “Uh. Oscar. I…um... I love…”

Behind Oscar's lips words crowded up like raging floodwaters against a dam wall and he couldn’t have stopped them spilling out if he’d tried and he didn't try.  _ “Gods, _ Zolf, I love you too,” he breathed and Grizzop clapped his hands in delight.

“Great, good,” Grizzop said. “Excellent. Fantastic. About bloody time and all that. So on to me, figured it out just now so should let you know that I fancy both of you too and I get that you’ve probably got some stuff to work through first but if you could keep that in mind while you do it that’d be cool.”

And Grizzop turned to go.

Oscar blinked. “Wait… what…  _ Grizzop…”  _

“I’ll give you an hour or two. Come find me.” Grizzop was out the door, and sliding it shut, and Oscar was too stunned by everything that had just happened to do anything but gape.

Until he felt a strong, warm hand take his.

“Uh. Well. That was somethin’.”

Oscar blinked down at Zolf, who was suddenly standing so much closer. His fingers curled around Zolf’s instinctively, brushing his thumb along the side of Zolf’s hand, feeling the work-hardened skin. “Did he just…?”

“I think he told us he has feelings for us,” Zolf was smiling now, lopsided and warm, and his eyes were twinkling. “Because unlike us he doesn’t dance around stuff. Or waste time. Gotta respect that, I reckon.”

They were silent for a second, neither of them looking down at where their hands were joined. Eventually Oscar took a breath.

“I think we just told each  _ other _ …”

“Something we already knew. Yeah?”

Oscar swallowed. “Yes,” he said softly. “Something I’ve known for months.”

“I reckon I’ve known it for a few too,” Zolf said, and his smile was wider, and fonder, and Oscar wanted to do nothing but kiss it.

Instead Zolf brought Oscar’s hand up to his mouth and pressed a kiss to his knuckles and Oscar let out a breath, and with that breath a million small tensions and uncertainties that had been sitting in a ball in his chest since… gods since Damascus.

Since he’d had to send Grizzop away. 

Since the first time he’d locked Zolf in a cage and pretended he was dead in an effort to calm the raging beast of grief that threatened to consume him whenever he thought about the possibility of losing him.

Since Einstein brought Grizzop back to him.

_ Since he was twenty one years old and being presented to the Meritocrats for the first time. _

_ They floated away. _

“Should we go and talk to Grizzop?” Zolf said. 

“He said he’d give us an hour,” Oscar said, and leaned down to give Zolf a kiss.

An hour would pass quickly enough.

* * *

Carter and Barnes got back to the inn on a sunny afternoon in cherry blossom season. It was pretty, so much more pretty than it had been when it was always wet and miserable, and Carter had to acknowledge that he liked it better than nearly all of the homes he’d had previously in his somewhat checkered life. The fact that he’d spent a fair bit of time behind bars in it didn’t matter so much - he’d spent a lot of time behind bars in a lot of places, and at least at the inn he did it with good companions and a stash of expensive booze.

“Oi, Carter,” Sasha called to them as they approached - she was on the roof, doing whatever it was she did whenever she was on the roof. Carter found it was better not to ask. 

“All right Sasha?” he called up, waving.

“You’re in trouble, mate,” she said.

“What’s new?” Barnes muttered next to him and Carter gave him an elbow to the ribs.

“What for?”

“That crystal you planted. In Wilde’s bedroom.”

Carter froze. Fuck. That… hadn’t meant to be something that got him in  _ trouble  _ that was just a prank, should have given Wilde a few sexy dreams and then… 

Barnes’ strong hand around his bicep made him realise that he’d been backing away, preparing to flee. Barnes knew him too well though, curse the man (and bless him too). “What crystal?” he said, voice light. 

“Nah mate,” Sasha was grinning. “You’re not getting out of it that easily.”

He glanced down at the entrance to the inn to see Azu and Cel standing there. Azu had her arms crossed over her chest and a stern expression on her face.

“We think it’s time you faced the consequences of your actions, Carter,” Azu said, in that soft, gentle tone she used when she was disappointed in you.

Gods it made Carter flashback to boarding school. “Barnes, my good man, my companion, my partner, you want to be a good chap and let go of my arm?” he glanced at Barnes to see the man’s expression. Stony faced. Not quite disappointed, but close to it.

“Is everyone all right?” Barnes asked.

“Oh all three of them are fine,” Cel said. “But we think they might want to have a word with you, buddy.”

“All three of them…?” Carter said. “But the crystal was only supposed to…”

Azu raised her eyebrows and Carter swore internally again.

He needed to learn to keep his stupid mouth shut.

“Barnes if you could bring him through,” Azu said, and her voice did not lose its stern edge.

Carter was going to get  _ reamed.  _ He was going to get shouted at. Probably have his pay cut. Maybe thrown in the cell for a couple of days for good measure.

His legs didn’t exactly turn to jelly but he wasn’t doing much of the work as Barnes drew him inexorably towards the inn. 

They didn’t lead him up to Wilde’s office, which was both a relief and a concern. He figured it would be the cells instead, which, okay, probably fair, and he still had a stash of booze down there so if he rationed it he wouldn’t…

They passed the entrance to the cell. Moved through the inn to the rear, where there was a small fenced off garden. Grizzop and Azu had spent a lot of time there, over the past few months, planting flowers and Zolf had a vegetable garden. The garden was empty, though, and Azu led them through the back gate, out into the trees beyond.

Gods. Were they going to  _ execute  _ him? He glanced over at Azu. She didn’t have her axe strapped to her back. Cel wasn’t wearing their coat. They didn’t seem to be armed.

“Oh good, he’s back!” Hamid’s voice came from just beyond the gate and Carter’s stomach dropped. They didn’t  _ need  _ weapons to kill him if Hamid was there.

“Where’s Wilde?” Carter asked, and wasn’t too surprised to hear the squeak in his voice.

“You’ll see,” Hamid said, cheerfully, and that made Carter’s blood run cold. 

A couple of hundred feet past the back gate of the inn was a small cherry orchard tended to by the village. Stone paths wound between trees that were ladened with blossoms, fluttering in pink and white petals down to the ground. Carter had time to admire their beauty, with a tinge of worry that they might be the last thing he saw. But no, Barnes wouldn’t let them  _ kill  _ him surely? And if Hamid was going to do it he’d risk burning the whole orchard to the ground and the villagers  _ liked  _ the orchard and… 

… and… 

In the centre of the orchard was the oldest of the cherry trees, surrounded by lush green grass that was no longer waterlogged and mushy with rain. A trio of figures were reclined underneath it. Carter blinked, not sure what he was seeing until he tilted his head a little, and saw a flicker of movement from one of them. A glint of gold on Grizzop’s ear as he flicked it, before it resettled against the broad chest of a sleeping Zolf, whose head rested on the shoulder of an utterly relaxed (and still stupidly handsome) Wilde.

“Oh shit,” Carter said. “It got all  _ three  _ of them?”

He heard Azu give a short, sharp snort of laughter. 

“Well yes, you could say it did, Howard,” Hamid said, and Carter looked at him to find him grinning fondly back.

“They’re fine,” Azu said. “They’re not in the dream any more. But you could say that it was something of a… a…”

“It was a catalyst,” Cel said. “A chemical reaction, pretty much, made them finally admit to each other how they felt. So it’s been like this for the last four days. They’ve been really sappy and walking around with cute smiles on their faces and falling asleep together in piles and…” 

“And it’s adorable,” Azu said at the same time as Hamid said “It’s all a bit much, really.”

Carter looked up to see Azu give Hamid a fond eyeroll.

“Okay,” Carter said. “So what… is going to happen to me?”

Hamid moved in front of him and took Carter’s hands in his. “Well, Howard,” Hamid said. “Nothing is going to happen to you. Not this time. But if something like this ever happens again Wilde has given me permission to fireball your entire stash of alcohol.”

Carter swallowed. Then nodded. “Okay, that seems fair.”

“And I’ve set up a magic detector in your room,” Cel said. “So if you try anything like that again I’ll  _ know.” _

“Right.”

He glanced at Barnes, who was openly grinning. “Nice one, Howard,” he said, and Carter couldn’t help it. He grinned back.

It was good to be appreciated.

“We going to… er… wake them up?” he asked, glancing back at Wilde and Zolf and Grizzop. Grizzop had nuzzled further up Zolf’s chest and had one leg flung out over Wilde’s lap. It really was… ridiculously cute.

“No,” Azu said. “Let them rest. They’ve earned it.”

"Okay then," Carter said. "Uh... I could use a drink. Anyone else? I'm buying," he added hurriedly.

"That sounds delightful, Howard," Hamid said as they turned and made their way back to the inn. 

Under the cherry tree, in the warm spring sunlight, Zolf and Wilde and Grizzop continued to dream.

It was a good one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anndd so concludes our not-so-epic ballad. Thank you once again to areyouokaypanda for beginning this delicious spiral of fun, and to my beautiful friends who encourage and enable me every day to commit crimes of all kinds in the form of words. You've made the last six months some of the most gloriously chaotic of my life and I love you for it. Thank you everyone who has read, commented, kudosed or just enjoyed. It forever surprises me that there are people out there who like the dumb stuff I write for my own amusement. You rock. 
> 
> See you again soon.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you Wilde Riders, for everything that you are and that you do.


End file.
